Time Will Tell
by Bombur Jo
Summary: Have you ever wondered what it would be like to open a door to Tolkien's Middle-earth and become part of the adventures surrounding the Ring? In Time Will Tell, a girl of our time gets to do just that. Reviewed favorably by the PPC. NOW COMPLETED.
1. Prologue: A Hobbit's Discovery

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own any of Tolkien's characters or the world he created. The only character of mine (Jorryn) has decided to take a holiday in Tolkien's Middle-earth. No copyright infringement on any of J. R. R. Tolkien's works is intended.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE (updated November 2009):** I would have never imagined it, but even after almost ten years, people are still reading TWT. It was just a silly summer project when I started, and I wrote it a bit sloppily with the enthusiasm of a devoted fangirl, but I'm so glad that readers are still enjoying it. Thank you so much!

We meet some familiar hobbits…

**PROLOGUE**

It was not a sense of fear, or duty, or a demanding urgency that drove Frodo Baggins through the thick woods of Hobbiton's Overhill. There was nothing more to the young hobbit's gaze than intense and unvaried concentration, focused piercingly on the uneven ground just before him.

The ordered piece of forested land he was running in, which grew on a hill behind Frodo's rich home at Bag End, was tame and well-kept, watered by a slender brook that laced itself through the bending, grey trees. Bag End itself could be seen from the top of the Hill, snugly tucked into the ground, light ashen smoke puffing from a short chimney.

Panting gently, Frodo was jumping nimbly from one patch of earth to the next, winding around trees and rocks with a surprising swiftness. A secretive smile was forming on his strong-jawed face, a mischievous glint in his clear eyes. His large, bare feet made no noise on the rough forest terrain. Sweat dripping on his brow, the hobbit allowed his smile to widen. No — it wasn't fear or a pressing need pulsing through Frodo, but the simple, tickling sensation of glee and merriment.

Frodo was still considered a child of the hobbit community, however quickly his coming of age was approaching. He would be thirty-three years old in a matter of months, on September 22nd. His older cousin, Bilbo Baggins, had a birthday on the same day as Frodo, but the senior Baggins exceeded his adopted heir Frodo by many seasons. Bilbo, who was approaching one hundred and eleven years of age, had been carefully planning a large and expensive party for the two of them, to which over a hundred hobbits were to be invited, but Frodo was beginning to grow suspicious. As was the case with most of Bilbo's schemes, Frodo felt that there was more to it than his older relative liked to admit.

Unwilling to think about the Party then, the hobbit suddenly slowed his sprint and paused behind a short hedge, not having to bend very low to hide his petite form. His thin summer cloak swept about his muscled shoulders as he peered out into a clearing, where one of his friends was waiting. Sunlight was just beginning to brighten the forest with a morning light that shaded the landscape with vivid gold. The woodland seemed to be ignoring a solitary figure that crouched in the tall, waving grass near the clearing's edge.

Frodo recognized the shape and posture of the figure at once. "Meriadoc!" he murmured. Though it was only a whisper, Frodo's voice came ominously from the shrub, and it echoed into the meadow from several places at once.

The hobbit, Meriadoc Brandybuck, looked up, his reddish-blonde hair tangled about his face. Slowly, he stood from where he had been kneeling. "Pippin?" he called uncertainly, glancing into the trees and bushes surrounding him. "Frodo?

In his hiding place, Frodo fought to stifle his laughter, grinning broadly. "Merry!" he hissed again, using his friend's nickname.

Merry's sharp gaze immediately shot to the shrub that was Frodo's place of concealment. Frodo ducked quickly out of sight just as Merry started jogging toward him — but at the same moment, Frodo was tackled from behind without warning.

With another hobbit suddenly on his back, Frodo lurched forward, crying out, and broke through the branches of his hiding-hedge. The two adolescents tumbled down into the clearing in a tangle of arms and legs, rolling to a stop at Merry's feet. Leaves and twigs clung to their capes and matted hair, and for a second the three stared at each other, breathing heavily.

"Well, there's a miracle, if I ever saw one!" cried Merry, a lopsided smile breaking his square-jawed face. "Beaten at your own game, Master Baggins!"

Frodo's successful attacker leapt up triumphantly and then offered his friend a hand, pulling Frodo up. "You didn't even hear me, did you, Frodo?" the golden-haired hobbit exclaimed, his green eyes shining with delight.

Dusting the grass off himself, Frodo pierced the winner of the game with a meaningful look. "Peregrin Took, you shall always be the slyest hobbit I've ever known."

Peregrin, who was called Pippin by his companions, pursed his thin lips. "Slyness is not a bad characteristic to have, especially when one has to deal with hobbits such as yourself, Frodo Baggins."

Frodo and Merry laughed, and together the three hobbits began to walk back into the forest to Bag End. Hobbiton was waking up to a new day, and small forms could be seen moving below, walking slowly among the narrow, well-kept dirt streets of the village.

Strolling at a leisurely pace, the trio came to the main road descending toward their valley. Frodo idly gathered pebbles and started to toss them at random targets along the way, saying nothing during their hike downhill.

"We should get Sam to join our little game sometime!" Pippin suggested after a few minutes, still delighted at the thought of his victory.

"Only to have him seized and battered by an overeager player," Frodo snorted. Lifting an eyebrow at Pippin, he rubbed a sore spot on his neck. Samwise Gamgee was Frodo's loyal servant and gardener, and one of his closest companions.

Merry produced a curved wooden smoking pipe from somewhere inside his jacket, and he began to puff on strong pipe-weed. "One thing is for sure," he said, "we can't make a habit out of these games; one of us is liable to have our wits thrashed out of us before long."

They chuckled at the idea, and before the disgruntled Pippin had a chance to defend himself, another distant voice called from behind on the road.

"Ho there, hobbits!"

They turned to see a large chestnut horse clopping briskly in their direction, pulling a wooden cart along the path. A single passenger perched on the cart's riding seat, his back slightly bowed with fatigue and age. He was clad entirely in long, woolen robes that were the color of dark slate. His tall, pointed hat shadowed half of his weathered face, but his eyes shone piercingly under the brim. Grey hair waving over his broad shoulders, the man greeted the hobbits with a nod and smoothed the long, white beard which flowed to his midsection. Boxes rattled in the cart, stamped with the familiar mark of the great wizard, Gandalf the Grey.

Frodo waved happily, beaming. "It's been long since I last met you, Gandalf!"

"Good day to you, Frodo," the wizard responded in his deep, commanding tone. He pulled his horse to a stop, nodding at the two hobbits behind Frodo. "Meriadoc, Peregrin; you are both looking well."

They returned his greetings. Frodo took a step closer, careful of the huge horse pounding the earth with its hooves nearby. "What brings you to the Shire, Gandalf?" he asked.

"Our great friend Bilbo, of course," Gandalf answered, leaning forward and letting his elbows rest on his knees. Glancing over his wares, a smirk lit his wrinkled countenance. "He wanted the best fireworks anyone could offer for your long-expected Party." Gandalf was a master of fire and displays of smoke and light, and a long-time friend of Bilbo Baggins. Though he was considered an outcast and someone not to be trusted, all of the hobbit-village knew and respected Gandalf.

News of the Bagginses' Party had traveled fast through Hobbiton, and since everyone knew how queer the occupants of Bag End could be, the entire town was keeping its eyes open. Gandalf was yet another confirmation that unusual and grand things were happening at the Hill. Already, hobbit-children were staring from their windows and lawns at the strange Man with the cart and full-grown horse.

Gandalf flattened the wrinkles in the sleeves of his robe. "This is hardly everything he wanted. I shall have to return in September to bring the rest of them."

Frodo squinted up in the sunlight. "Bilbo will be glad to see you; 'the fireworks will probably be better than the food,' he keeps telling me."

"Well," said Gandalf pleasantly, "that's a magnificent thing for a hobbit to say, especially since I know how much hobbits love meals."

"Which reminds me," Pippin interrupted, "we've not had breakfast yet."

"Would you Little People like to ride the rest of the way to Bag End?" Gandalf invited, making room in the rear of the cart.

"Thank you," Merry and Pippin accepted at once, clambering into the wagon, but Frodo announced that he had left his knapsack in the woods.

"I'll be back in a moment, if you'll wait."

Gandalf agreed, and Frodo went trotting away between the trees. Shafts of light filtered through the boughs above, and the forest life twittered and sang around him. The soil was fertile and damp beneath his feet. Ahead, beside the stream, he spotted his pack set against a boulder where he had left it earlier that morning. He stooped and slung it over his shoulder, rising to breathe in the sweet-smelling air, pausing to admire the solitude. The brook bubbled, and the woods reverberated with a comforting song. The song was broken a moment later.

All at once, there was a rush of violent wind all about Frodo, bursting so unexpectedly and so furiously that the hobbit was nearly knocked off his feet. His cloak was ripped from his neck and blown across the stream, landing in the shadows. The gale rushed into Frodo's face, stinging his eyes and biting his skin with dust. The tumult was deafening.

As soon as it had come, the storm was gone, and Frodo found that he had been thrown down into the dirt and moss, his arms wrapped around his head protectively. He lifted his soiled face, gasping. The serene forest was no different than it had been before.

Searching vainly for a grey cloud in the sky, for a source of the storm, Frodo stood, amazed. He had never experienced anything so sudden and fierce, nor had he ever heard of it happening to anyone else. Rattled and scared, and wanting to hurry back to his waiting friends, he bounded across the slow-running stream to find his cloak.

He located it lying across the ground, a gaping hole ripped into the attractive green fabric. Wondering anxiously if it could be repaired, he trotted over to it.

Yet when he lifted the stained cloth, it was not earth or stone that he revealed underneath. Frodo's blue stare glittered with confusion and disbelief, his brow puckering into a bewildered frown — he was looking upon a Lady. He ogled down dumbly, not sure what he should do, but with a jolt he abruptly remembered that he had a voice.

"Gandalf!" Frodo shouted, standing and yelling with all his might in the direction of the road. "Pippin, Merry! Come quick, now!"


	2. Jo

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own any of Tolkien's characters or the world he created. The only character of mine (Jorryn) has decided to take a holiday in Tolkien's Middle-earth. No copyright infringement on any of J. R. R. Tolkien's works is intended.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Have you made it this far yet:) I'm sorry, but introductions must be made. The good stuff starts in the next chapter, but if you would like to get to know the main character, read this introductory chapter. Jo finds herself in a strange situation.

**1**

The numbness began in my legs the first day, deadening my toes so that I could no longer sense them. At first I thought it was nothing more than the cold — homes like ours were kept very cool during the sweltering weeks of summer — but when I realized that both my feet had frozen entirely, I knew something was wrong.

The feeling was not sudden; it crept, in a way. And I was soon certain that the air-conditioned rooms of my house were not the cause, because wherever I went the coldness followed, chilling my feet like ice. Thinking back, I couldn't remember anything that could be the cause of the oddity. No amount of heat or layers of socks could banish it. There wasn't a disease or fatal virus I knew about which involved cold feet, so I ignored the problem and didn't tell anyone.

A few days before the Fourth of July, my ankles felt the prickling sensation that meant a lack of blood flow, and I feared what could be wrong with me. Still, I cheerfully continued to help the five other girls I worked with set up for our yearly fireworks stand. It was a requirement of our job and a service to our community, we were told grandly by our boss. We all signed up for time slots, and a couple of girls said that they could stay at the booth the entire day. I wondered how on earth anybody could have a life so empty that they would waste a day sitting behind tables of Black Cat firecrackers and sparklers.

I was not the type to waste time or energy, and I liked to be doing something most of the time. Personally, I thought that I was fairly odd; somehow, I managed to be quiet and maddeningly loud at the same time — at least that's what my best friend had told me. I was an avid reader and writer, and a loyal fan of Edgar Allen Poe, C.S. Lewis, J. R. R. Tolkien, the Beatles, and buttered popcorn.

My life was normal enough — I lived in a sleepy little town on the edge of nowhere, where the population was compelled to turn toward books, computers, or television for entertainment. Most, sadly, went directly to the last two. Although I had nothing against personal computers or TV (I was on my computer quite often, in fact), I felt that there was a great deal more to be learned from the writings of authors.

The morning the fireworks stand opened, I could not feel the lower parts of my legs, and I had to look down to make sure my feet were still there. Our fireworks stand was set up blatantly on the main street of our town, between a grocery store and a gift shop. That morning, I was working a slot of time with a girl that was my age, Taima.

I came in to find the fireworks already set out, our boss and Taima already seated. We had covered the display tables in red and blue paper the day before, in order to achieve a patriotic effect, and today there were innumerable Roman kandles, firecrackers, champagne poppers, and rockets of all sorts for sale, readily labeled.

"Well, good morning, Jo!" the high, Southern-accented voice of our boss, Ramona, called. She smiled at me gladly, pink blush coloring her defined cheekbones. Brown hair framed a square face.

Dumping my load, I greeted the two ladies. "Did you guys do all this today?" I asked, waving at the neat displays and price labels.

"This morning," Taima affirmed. My classmate was short, drowsy-eyed, and generally puerile. Words often burst from her loudly and raucously, like the sound of a balloon popping.

I sidled around the chairs, throwing up clouds of dust on the dirty surfaces. "Sorry, I didn't know, or else I would have been here."

"Oh, that's all right," replied Ramona, her speech drawling. "Starburst was here before she went to work."

I nodded — most would think that the woman was referring to a candy, but Starburst was another girl who worked with us. "Did she sign up for any slots today?" I asked.

"She's making her grandma work the time she signed for," Taima said evilly, biting her nails. I imagined that my classmate thought Starburst's grandmother was some sort of slave.

I shrugged. "Well, okay."

Stretching, I reached across a table for the book I had set down with a couple of melting candy bars, next to my sunglasses and hat. Reading the glistening title, _The Fellowship of the Ring_, I opened it, the pages fluttering freely in the breeze. J. R. R. Tolkien's words were a blur of flapping chapters, and I couldn't stop a shrewd look from growing in my eyes as I remembered the Fellowship's adventures. The characters and their quest to destroy the One Ring captivated me.

Whenever I finished a particularly incredible chapter, I would close the book and turn to the nearest person, showing them the shiny cover and advising, "You _really_ should read this!" But whomever I was speaking to would only shrug and go on to something else. There was no polite interest, no questions like "Oh? What's it about?" or "I never have, but the movie looks good," or even better, "I know! Aren't they just the best books ever written?"

Unable to put it down, I had finished _The Return of the King_ at two o'clock in the morning one recent summer night. I had quietly sobbed and sniffled at the story's ending — not because it was sad, but just because it was a beautiful conclusion to a beautiful story. And plus, it was an _ending_. There was no more after that last page except for tales that could be spun in my imagination.

"Hey, where are you? You sure are dazed and out of sorts today," snickered Taima, bringing me suddenly out of Minas Tirith and Rohan and Mordor.

I grinned in spite of the numb pain in my legs. "Yeah, in more ways than one!"

"So… what are you going to be doing later?"

"I'm going to read," I said decisively, opening to "The Council of Elrond."

Taima watched disappointedly, and then slumped down in the chair yawning. "We should have brought a radio," she sighed with a groan.

That day and the next passed uneventfully, except for the gradual spreading of the strange cold up to my knees. On July 3, I signed for three two-hour slots of work time, even if I wasn't really up to it. I was more tired than I had ever been during the summer, and my mind felt muffled, as if someone had taken a blanket and stifled my brain.

I had the morning shift with another student in my grade, a girl named Rashida. She was fast-talking and canny, and usually boisterous. She had brought one of her younger girl friends, Tony, to keep her company. They had similar personalities, which meant I would have to deal with double the noise I had been expecting. Starburst's grandmother, Mrs. Singhinsen, was there as a supervisor.

When I got to the stand that morning, I noticed my two peers with an inward groan and deposited my sunglasses and sketchpad in their usual places, but I brought _The Lord of the Rings_ with me behind the barricade of tables. My frozen feet dragged across the smooth concrete floor, and the sound was the only thing that made me aware of it. I plopped into a metal chair, saying nothing other than my usual hello. I unproductively rubbed at the useless muscles in my calves. I was sincerely worried now that I had some sort of serious condition.

Rashida wasted no time and shoved a gooey thing into my face, inquiring cheerily, "You want a Popsicle?" The evidence of the dessert was obvious around her mouth, which was stained purple.

_More cold… _I thought. "No, thanks."

What I wanted most was rest, but a great number of costumers were getting their fireworks for the celebration tomorrow, and the business was doing well. Halfway through my first shift, I was in great pain and could barely move without mentally commanding the dead muscles in my legs to stir.

I rushed through the costumer I was assisting and collapsed into a seat to calm my throbbing pulse, gripping the edge of a table. "What's wrong with me?" I said aloud, the words breaking.

I had a fleeting, fiery urge to get out of the oppressive building. I stood quickly, but then wavered precariously and gasped.

All week, it had been like I was standing in a rising puddle of freezing water that killed all feeling in my feet, and then in my legs, mounting progressively to my waist. When I hurriedly stood in the fireworks stand that day, the invisible puddle of icy water suddenly rose and submerged my entire form in numbness, leaving me with no sense of any other part of my body. Imaginary needles pricked each inch of my skin.

I stood, paralyzed and terrified, my arms hanging limp at my sides. Every part of me burned, and my limbs were becoming heavy, lifeless burdens. Ignorant, my friends shoved around me and continued with their work, and I stared, breathing quickly, fearing that each gasp would be my last. Continuing to breathe was the only issue I could fully concentrate on in my traumatized state.

Shrill commands in my head yanked me out of the stupor. _Outside, outside, you must get outside! _

In a daze, I stumbled out of the building, knocking over a metal trashcan that screeched across the floor and toppled over with a clatter. I bashed my shoulder on the doorway as I made my way out, but I didn't receive a predictable stabbing ache, and I gaped in disbelief at the metal frame.

I staggered into the grass outside and shrank into an insensitive heap. I could see the ground gleaming with my frightened tears. The one thing I could really feel was panic and horror, coursing through me in poisonous tremors that made my innards quaver. A thunderous roar filled my ears; haze fell over my vision like a sheer black curtain.

Slowly, awkwardly, I lifted a hand that hung worthlessly from my wrist, just to see if I could. To my surprise, I was still clutching _The Fellowship of the Ring _with white-knuckled strength, though I wasn't physically aware of it. I let my arm drop, noting how faded and transparent the skin there looked.

There was a voice calling from far off, beyond the screaming noise blasting through my skull, and the sky above was growing dark. I opened and closed my eyes once, a laborious task, and fought for breath. But then there was a suffocating weight crushing down on my chest, and I knew no more.


	3. In Another World

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own any of Tolkien's characters or the world he created. The only character of mine (Jorryn) has decided to take a holiday in Tolkien's Middle-earth. No copyright infringement on any of J. R. R. Tolkien's works is intended.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Well, here you have it. Finally, the good stuff begins! Jo gets to meet the master of a very well known hobbit-hole. Hopefully you find that your waiting has paid off! This one is short, but it is the turning point in the story. Enjoy.

**

2

**

My first waking thought was of cool bed linens against my bare arms and legs. There was warmth across my face and soft pillows cushioning my head. Despite the comfort, a miasma of confusion was coated thickly over my mind. I wasn't aware that I had been asleep at all; the recollections from days before that I could call to mind were just flashes of random memories. A bright spark of sun. Jokes with friends. Burning fear… why? As I groggily came back to the world, I struggled to remember where I was and how I had come to be there.

I was lying on my back, my arms flat out at my sides. My eyebrow twitched involuntarily, and as it did I felt a web of pain spike through my skull. A raspy groan escaped my lips. Grimacing against the headache, I tested the movement of my limbs and tried to roll over, but I was met with a sharp ache erupting in my right shoulder.

My eyes snapped open. My shoulder! I banged it on the doorway at the fireworks stand but never felt it…

I sat bolt upright, though my injury screamed out in protest. The ominous event of that strange day came rushing to me like a tidal wave let loose. First, exhilaration washed over me — I could feel myself again, and my skin was warm and glowing! But I froze as my body was arrested again by petrifying alarm and distress, and I blanched, a myriad of jumbled questions all at once jumping to the surface of my fear when I saw where I was.

Morning was shining across my pillows through a large, circular window at the far side of the room, the rays hitting a squat, elegant desk, on which stacks of papers and books were strewn. In fact, I observed that every piece of gracefully carven furniture was short, like it had been made for a child, and polished smoothly, wrought in curves or twisted shapes. Another long table was the location for several glass goblets and inkstands, a feather quill placed amid the pages of a thick leather-bound book like a bookmark. An open entryway, in the opposite wall from the window, was also round-shaped, and very low. A bright and elaborate rug was spread on the glossy wood flooring. The bed I rested in was more like a crib, and only once I looked did I notice that my feet poked curiously from under my bedcovers, nearly hanging off the edge of the mattress.

One hand came up to touch my brow, shaking faintly with uncertainty, and my mouth moved into muddled words that evaporated before reaching the air. Even as I gathered knowledge about my surroundings, there was nothing I could do to identify where I was. I could merely assume that I had been drugged, kidnapped, or brought to this unknown place by some other method of gruesome ingenuity. The only thing to do was get up and explore, and try to find out my location alone.

Wincing, I inched my legs toward me and prepared to get of the bed. The joints cracked sorely, but I let my naked feet slip from under the blankets to hit the cold floor, which was closer to me than I had guessed. When I stood, I got a glimpse of myself in a small mirror hung above a tiny rocking chair, and I rushed to it, somewhat falteringly, to stare at my reflection, incredulous.

I was wearing clothes that definitely were not mine. I remembered that I had been dressed in a bright yellow sleeveless shirt and blue jeans at the fireworks stand. Now, a baggy white tunic drooped from my willowy arms, and loose-fitting brown breeches covered my legs, the hem barely managing to hide my knees. My brown hair was tangled and creased from sleep. Pain stung in my shoulder, and I slowly pulled away the collar of my shirt to expose a discolored bruise the size of my fist, a sickening gash stretching the length of the wound. I felt overwhelmed at the image, and I turned my back on the mirror more confused than ever.

The writing table was directly beside me, littered with unintelligible documents, the top edge of it touching my thigh. Frowning, I picked up one of the pieces of parchment, which was covered in unreadable scratches, jagged runes, and small subtitles of curving letters. Drawings of stars, animals, and uneven mountain ranges were scribbled in the margins like afterthoughts.

A sudden stirring in the rooms outside mine made my hand jerk away and drop the paper as though it were scalding my fingers, and my head snapped to the single arched doorway across the chamber. Searching for a place to hide, I scrambled back, but only had time enough to shift within the shadow of a bookcase. A moment later, the strangest little man I had ever seen stepped into the bedroom.

Even if he was starting to bald a little, his grayish-blonde hair was thick around his jovial face and sparkling eyes. He showed every sign of vitality that youthful, middle-aged man usually would, apart from his obvious shortness! He wasn't abnormally proportioned, nor did he seem stunted or sick, he was just… well, short. He made his size look natural, not unbalanced. He was distinctly stouter at his stomach, but not overly so. He was sporting a mauve housecoat with large cuffs, a wide collar, and small gold buttons, a comfortable shirt like mine showing underneath. His breeches were also similar to the ones I had on, except they fit him much better, reaching down to his mid-calf. Incredibly long, _furred_ feet padded on the floor with no sound, allowing him to tiptoe into the room. I stood rigid, knowing he had been sent to check on me.

Sure enough, his eyes went to the bed first and widened in surprise as soon as he saw it empty. Hands on his hips, his dark gaze swept the room and immediately found my huddled form, pinning me to the bookcase at my back. I shrank away timidly.

He softened visibly, smiling. "Hello, there," he called, his voice lilting. His curly head tipped forward with quick greeting, and he gestured to the crib I had abandoned. "I'm glad to see you up, milady, but may I invite you back to bed?"

Dumbly, I remained, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth. It seemed highly improbable that this dwarfish man could be my captor, but I didn't know what else to think. I considered accusing him outright of abducting me — however, he looked too gentle for that. So I just watched, my acuity dampened.

Something like worry flickered across the man's face, and his voice came stronger the second time. "My dear, you're in no condition to be out of bed — please." He took a careful step toward me, hand outstretched.

Still I waited, my fingers fumbling for something to grasp. They found the armrest of a chair and squeezed the polished wood desperately as the man came closer. He was no taller than me, the top of his form barely meeting my brow. I had never been any sort of giant — my mother was short, and I had inherited her size, measuring at age sixteen a mere four feet and five inches. I had been the center of many rude short-jokes, but the majority of my school's student body was tolerant enough to respect my personality and overlook imperfections. They would have loved to see this man, who must have been just under four feet tall.

Concern was blatant in his eyes, and he asked delicately, still a pace from me, "Are you all right?"

Immobile like a deer in car headlights, I nodded at him, clenching the chair. All accusations, questions, and screams died on my lips, and dread prevailed.

He mirrored my nod guardedly, reaching to take my wrist. "Now," he swallowed, locking his gaze with my own, "please lie back down. You've been sick, and you need your rest more than anything."

Still holding my wrist, he led me guardedly to the "bed," and I followed sluggishly, recalling times when my little brother had pulled me along like this man was, kindly but insistently.

His words struck me abruptly — I had been sick? I wrestled with the questions lodged in my throat, trying to summon the nerve to ask him what he meant. Before I knew it, he had me back into the bed, pulling blankets up to my waist, and I found myself studying him while he nonchalantly plumped up my pillows. It was then that I finally discovered he had visibly _pointed_ ears sticking out of his hair, and my jaw dropped. _How is any of this possible?_

Peering hard at him, I gulped and forced a hoarse question from my dry throat. "Where am I?" _And what am I doing here, and how did I get here, and who are you, and how do you know me…_

Stunned, he looked up sharply, straightening to his full height, and a delighted laugh rang from him. "My dear lady, I am so relieved to hear you speak! I feared that you didn't understand Common Speech, and that would have been a bit of a problem." Sensing that I had no response for this exclamation, the man covered my hand with his own, smiling widely, and continued. He gently pushed me down so I was leaning on the pillows he had prepared. "My dear, I would like to welcome you to my home at Bag End. Here we inhabit the Hill of Bagshot Row in one of the richest _smials_ that Hobbiton — or the Shire, for that matter — has ever seen."

I absorbed these terms dully, my skin going white. "_Smials_…" I echoed weakly, sinking into my cushions, my head buzzing. "That's not — how — "

"Yes — a _smial_, to put it more crudely, is a hobbit-hole."

"Hobbit!" I gasped, sitting erect again, air leaving my lungs explosively. The information my captor had just given me ran through my mind in a loop of immeasurable chaos, and all my prior beliefs scattered, leaving me to pick up what I could.

_Bag End, Hobbiton, hobbits… those names are all part of a work of fiction, yet here I am, in a very violently real dream, talking to someone who isn't supposed to exist!_

As if he wanted to prove he was genuine, the hobbit — for that's certainly what he must have been — forced me into the pillows, looking troubled by my vacant appearance. "Are you all right?" he wondered again, getting no reaction.

I had dreamed many times of being a part of a fictional universe, but never had I imagined that my wishes would come true! This was much more frightening and painful than I wanted; I found myself unexpectedly thrust into this world, dropped in the middle of a daunting mess, not delicately placed beside my favorite characters as I had desired.

Nevertheless, if I was really in the Bag End from _Lord of the Rings_, the actual home of the famous Bagginses… my heart began to race the instant I glanced over at the hobbit.

Losing my grip on reality, I squeezed my eyes shut to block out the picturesque room before me, and I dragged my legs up and hugged them to my chest uncomfortably. "How can this be happening?" I breathed.

I felt a hesitant hand on my arm and a murmuring voice by my ear. "Perhaps a little breakfast would make you feel better? Answers will come after, I promise."

"I'm not sure food is the cure for my case," I countered, trying to smile at him.

The hobbit chuckled good-humoredly, assuming I had just made a joke. "I'm sure anyone in the Shire would insist otherwise, my dear. Food can cure anything for anyone." Still amused, he stepped away and stuck one of his hands into a pocket of his breeches, bowing charmingly. "If you want anything, you need only call for someone. I am Bilbo Baggins."

Not wanting to embarrass him, I tried to cover my overexcitement, to no avail. I wanted to tell him that I was honored to meet him, to explain my adoration for him and his friends, but the only thing I could muster was an enthusiastic introduction. "My name's Jorryn — or Jo, I guess. That's — that's what everyone calls me." _Or maybe it should be that they _used_ to call me that, before I disappeared into a legendary book_.

"Jo," Bilbo approved buoyantly, "there are several hobbits at Bag End that are willing to help you whenever you ask. Hamfast Gamgee and his son Samwise can usually be found in the garden, out the back door. My nephew Frodo and I are always available, and Gandalf, of course, can assist with nearly anything while he is here."

_Gandalf the Grey_ and _Frodo Baggins_ were here, within calling distance! I had to bite my bottom lip to stifle a euphoric scream, so deeply was I excited to hear the names Bilbo (_Oh my goodness! I'm talking to Bilbo Baggins!)_ was listing so casually.

"Needless to say, Frodo and Gandalf will want to see you," the hobbit was announcing, not sensing my growing exhilaration. "They've been taking care of you for the past week, after all, and they'll be happy to find you feeling a good deal better. Afterward, you'll exchange your accounts of this peculiar occurrence, and hopefully get some answers."

Bilbo brought me out of my misty daydreams with a fatherly pat on my hand. "I'll have a breakfast tray brought to you, Jo my dear." As he turned to leave, he looked back ruefully. "I'm sorry about your clothes, but we had to make due with some of Frodo's. I ordered a dress to be made and shipped from Hobbiton for you yesterday. I daresay that other hobbits will think I'm keeping a huge monster in my tunnels; the seamstress was appalled at your measurements when she saw them!"

I laughed, thinking that if I was now wearing one of Frodo Baggins's shirts, then I didn't need any other clothes at all. Bilbo Baggins parted, leaving me alone to sort out my countless thoughts, hopes, and fears.

In the end I simply forgot everything, even memories of home, flew to my feet, and started to bounce up and down on the bed, only to strike my head nastily on the low ceiling. Gripping the sides of my skull in pain, I resolved to take a seat. There was nothing that could restrain my soaring spirit, though, and I relaxed on the bed with a big dumb grin on my face.


	4. Many Meetings

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own any of Tolkien's characters or the world he created. The only character of mine (Jorryn) has decided to take a holiday in Tolkien's Middle-earth. No copyright infringement on any of J. R. R. Tolkien's works is intended.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Several people are suspecting that Jo has a "thing" for Frodo. Hmm… who knows? You decide for yourself. :) Jo meets her rescuer and a very famous wizard. (No, _not _Harry Potter!) Also, the first few chapters may seem to move slowly, because I want Jo to meet each of the hobbits individually. If she were to meet them all together, all at once, she would be far too overwhelmed!

**

3

**

I was fully awake within minutes, my brain and body alert to everything around me, the adrenaline pumping through my veins as I comprehended how remarkable my situation was. Wishes to return to my own world were short-lived.

Staring out the window at the greenery of the garden, I pensively fingered the fabric of the hobbit-made shirt. I looked on everything with a new sense of awe, touching all that I dared and reading what I could from the work left on the tables, not knowing that I was being watched by one of my rescuers.

In the hall, there was the sound of porcelain chinking, and someone cleared his throat inquiringly. I leaned forward from the bed where I sat to see half of a brunette head peering around the corner, a bright blue gaze fixed unobtrusively on me. "Jo?" a clear, accented voice ventured shyly.

"Yes?" I frowned curiously, waiting.

A hobbit slipped into the room, all of his attention on the silver tray he held. He was thinner and a few centimeters taller than Bilbo, and unmistakably younger, with large glinting eyes and thick dark hair that covered his fairy-tale-like ears in wavy locks. His face was smooth and oval-shaped, still hinting at the boyhood looks he must have previously possessed. Nearing the edge of the bed, he gave me a small smile, greeting me quietly, "Hello — here's your breakfast."

I took the tray from him thankfully, my attention momentarily taken as I observed his handsome form. I nearly laughed out loud at myself, grudgingly admonishing those dreams out of my head — _he's a Hobbit, you're a Human. Leave it alone, Jorryn._ All I said outwardly was "Thank you."

He shifted backward, clasping his hands composedly at his waist. His tunic was loose on his shoulders, partially covered with a burgundy-colored vest unbuttoned down his front. "I'm Frodo," he stated eventually.

I certainly knew this, but I was thrilled anyway, and I uncovered a bowl of steaming porridge to hide a cheek-bursting grin, brushing my hair out of my face. "Thanks for breakfast," I reiterated earnestly, in a very soft and timid voice, "and thanks for taking me in. This is a really big mess for all of you, probably."

Frodo's expression was clouded for a moment. "It's been no trouble. We were anxious for you, and it was the least we could do to help. My friends send their good wishes, and hope to see you soon. You're feeling better now, I hope?"

"I'm fine, just a little bewildered," I reassured him, thankful for his worry, and I looked down at my cooling food thoughtfully. "But I don't know anything — what happened?"

The hobbit dropped with a sigh onto a stack of thick hardback books piled at my bedside, staring up at me lucidly, and I trembled at the triggered current that he sent through my heart with that simple movement. "When I found you," Frodo remembered, "you were unconscious and terribly feverish. That was six days ago. Bilbo insisted that you be brought here to remain under our care."

"_You_ found me?" I said breathlessly, watching my reflection in the silver tray on my lap, appreciation for my new friend bubbling in my chest.

Frodo nodded, his gaze fixed on some random spot on the floor before him. "I was in the woods not far from here, with two other hobbits, Merry Brandybuck and Pippin Took. After I came upon you we were able to carry you to another of my companions, Gandalf, who was waiting at the Road. Since then, this is the first time you've stirred."

I picked up a fork and ran my fingers over the ridged silver, silent for a long contemplative while. A third "thank you" was trying to jump off my tongue, but I felt that those plain words would completely understate my gratitude.

It took the sonorous, grating voice of another to draw us both out of the heavy stillness. "Frodo — may I enter?"

Frodo twisted around, beckoning someone in. "Yes, Gandalf, please."

I had hazarded to try a taste of the only drink I had been given with my breakfast, and I found it pungently sharp and unpleasant. My eyes watering, I choked bitterly, coughing. However, my hacking grew even louder at the sight of an aged man ducking beneath the doorway. "A good morning to you, Jorryn, I hope you feel well," the man addressed me mildly. "Would you mind if I spoke with you?"

Gandalf the Grey, for that's undoubtedly who entered, was a towering silvery stone, a detached part in the warmth of the room, his swept-back, pearly hair brushing the ceiling. Part of his lined face was hidden by a full beard and mustache, and even before I could really be sure, I knew he had me skewered on the end of his intense gaze, scrutinizing and discerning. One thumb was tucked under the belt securing his rippling robes.

If meeting Bilbo or Frodo had scared me, it was nothing compared to the reverence and wonder I felt in the wizard's presence. His stern stature and probing gaze were only a veil over the power shrouded within him, which needed only a spark of anger or a magical command to be uncovered. "Good morning," I sputtered in reply, hastily discarding my goblet of fiery ale.

Gandalf noticed how I set the drink aside, and his piercing eyes shone. "You don't like spiced wine?" he quipped.

Wiping the dribbled beverage off my chin embarrassedly, I shook my head. "I've never tasted it, until now."

"I'll bring milk for you next time," Frodo offered accommodatingly, not leaving his relaxed perch atop the stack of books.

Stooping under ceiling beams, Gandalf moved and settled into a chair that he'd pulled up and positioned next to Frodo. "Now," he commenced, intertwining his long fingers, "has Frodo described all that has occurred this last week?"

I swallowed, nodding.

"What do you make of it, Jo?"

"I… I don't know, I suppose it's all really strange, and I don't know what to think."

I could not break away from his steady gaze. "Do you know where you are, how you got here?"

"No," I said pitifully, "I only know this is Bag End. I've never — I don't know how I ended up in the woods here."

Suddenly the wizard leaned forward, squinting keenly. I braced myself, waiting for a grave judgment. To my relief, Gandalf only revealed that he had made an ominously accurate observation. "You, Jo, are not from our Middle-earth, or the lost land of Númenor, or the realm of Aman, to be sure; in fact, I do not believe that you are anything of our Arda at all."

Having not read _The Silmarillion_ or anything else vaguely Tolkienish, the name "Middle-earth" was the only one I recognized in Gandalf's statement, but, since I was feeling like a confronted criminal that had just been made to confess of committing some wicked crime, I simply nodded again.

Frodo looked from me to Gandalf, puzzled. "Where else could she be from, Gandalf, if not Middle-earth?" he wondered logically.

"You know of the Elves and Men that came from over the Sea, Frodo," Gandalf reminded, "but this Lady is obviously not an Elf, and though Men do tend to wander, they usually know where they are."

Both of their quizzical expressions turned to meet mine, and I sagged wretchedly under the weight of them. "I'm not from Middle-earth," I confirmed. That was the only fact I was really sure of. "I don't know how I came here or why… but I'm sure — I know my home is in another world." I tried to jump into another sentence, to attempt explaining myself, to verify my story with proof. Frodo interjected dubiously.

"Another world!" gaped the hobbit, his mouth open. "How can you know that?"

A mysterious air passed over Gandalf, darkening his ancient features. I waited fretfully. "Peace, Frodo," he said at length, "incidents like this are not entirely unheard of. There is the chance that a magic capable of doing such things exists, though I do not know of it, unless…" He did not finish his last thought. The wizard examined me from under his bushy eyebrows, pondering these new possibilities, hitting me with more rapid, terse questions. "What has happened to you to make you believe that your world is separate from ours? How can you be sure of it? Do you remember anything from before, of yourself, of your world?"

Reaching far within my mind, I delayed any reaction, mulling over what my answer should be. The thought that magic more powerful than Gandalf's was distressing, and it seemed to visibly disturb the wizard himself. "I don't suppose it should actually be said that I'm from a different _world_," I mused tentatively, recalling as many essays, articles, and encyclopedia entries on the subject as I could, "but from another _time_. You see," I continued quickly, blushing underneath the two others' skepticism, "I know about Middle-earth and the people in it, because I've read entire books about hobbits, elves, and everything else, but I thought that was just fiction. The author meant for the story to be set thousands of years before the time I knew, with imaginary characters and adventures. Up 'til now, I've understood everything in those books to be untrue, and when I suddenly found myself in the middle of an invented time… it's pretty extraordinary." My held breath flew from my chest in a shuddering pant. I had not meant to say so much, and I was embarrassed.

Brow furrowed, Gandalf _harrumphed_ into his palm, muttering. "Extraordinary, indeed."

"I was sick before I woke up here," I put in.

"Yes, you were."

I shook my head, "No, I mean _before_, when I was still at my home. Like, my legs got numb and died, and I couldn't feel them."

"What else can you remember?" Gandalf questioned.

I closed my eyes. "It was summer, and we were selling fireworks to raise money for the business I worked for. I don't know what day it was — maybe Tuesday. I remember… I stood up really fast at the fireworks stand, and then it was like I couldn't feel myself anymore. Every part of my body was cold and numb. I… I fainted, I think."

"And… you know about Middle-earth? How much do you think you know?"

Unprepared to expose all that I knew, about their stories and lives and personalities, I said, "I — I know about you."

"Me?" the wizard said in surprise, his eyebrows lifting slightly. "Does your knowledge extend, perhaps, to the future of Middle-earth?"

Blood drained from my face. "Yes, it does, a little," I said. I realized then what a threat I could be to them and their stories, and Gandalf knew that he didn't have to tell me so. The dangers of time-travel all at once seemed too real. Frodo continued to look on, still confused.

Gandalf rubbed his jaw, pensive. "There is something at work here," he concluded finally, "I'm not sure what, yet. Do not trouble yourself with this matter," he said to me, touching the lump under the blanket that was my foot. "Your case is a special one, and I will sort it out accordingly." Walking around a motionless Frodo, the wizard granted me the pleasure of seeing one corner of his mouth turn upward amusedly. "Someone has had the sense to drop you into the middle of a very welcome company. I think you will be quite comfortable here at Bag End."

"I think so too," I replied with a grateful smile. "Thank you, sir."

Just before Gandalf left the room, he bent low under the doorframe so Frodo and I could see him. "I should think it was lunchtime for you, Frodo."

"I suppose so," said the hobbit absentmindedly.

"Jo, I am sure Master Bilbo would allow you to join us, if you think you're well enough to be out of bed." Without another word, Gandalf disappeared in a swirl of gray cloth. Undecided, I thought of my nearly untouched breakfast, and I chided myself for wastefulness.

Standing to stretch his short arms, Frodo startled me out of my plaguing feelings. "Would you like to take lunch with me and my uncle?"

"If it's no trouble — "

" — for you," he finished for me firmly. "You need to stay and rest if you are still unwell."

I beamed softly at him. "Then of course I'd like to come."


	5. Bag End

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own any of Tolkien's characters or the world he created. The only character of mine (Jorryn) has decided to take a holiday in Tolkien's Middle-earth. No copyright infringement on any of J. R. R. Tolkien's works is intended.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Aha! Jo explores Bag End and meets the very famous gardener who works there. For those who love Sam. :)

**4**

Bag End was a maze of cozy passageways and rooms, made up mostly of bedrooms and food cupboards (I thought it very strange to build a closet-sized pantry in nearly every part of the hobbit-hole), though there was a good number of parlors, bathrooms, hallways, and offices, all snugly and handsomely furnished in a plush hobbit style. The main feature of the architecture was the circles; windows were round, doors were circular, ceilings were curved, and tunnels and hallways arched just over my head. I followed Frodo Baggins around animatedly, my bare feet slapping down on the patterned flooring while he slipped along noiselessly, pointing out his favorite rooms and special features of the home to me. I was just about four or five centimeters taller than him, and his curls bobbed precisely at the bridge of my nose.

We entered a section of the _smial_ wholly devoted to food and eating. There were dinner halls, dining rooms, hidden tearooms, and huge kitchens, stocked with every food I'd ever known, and then some. Frodo led me into one of the private areas where Gandalf and Bilbo were seated already, speaking in amiable tones. Potted ferns and flowers hung all over, providing a relaxing setting for any occasion. The morning sunlight streamed in through a portico of glass, which showed guests out to a wide veranda with a view of the hobbits' rural village below.

Just as we were coming in, I could overhear Bilbo say in amazement, "From another world? To be sure, it's one of the queerest things I've ever heard, Gandalf. And you believe her?"

Behind the cover of a large plant, my step wavered anxiously, awaiting Gandalf's reply. Frodo entered the room confidently, one encouraging hand on my arm, and I followed.

"No matter how queer it seems, my friend, I do believe her story is true."

Thankful, I let my tense shoulders droop, and I moved into their view beside Frodo. Bilbo stood courteously, no sign of his previous incredulity on his cheery face. "Good afternoon! Would either of you be interested in lunch?"

A sizeable meal had been placed at the empty chairs for us; chicken, potatoes, corn, bread, and a mug of the requested milk was prepared beside Gandalf, and I couldn't help giggling privately at my beverage as I took a seat. The hobbits and wizard started talking immediately about the weather and times of the sunsets, and all the close relatives and friends that were on good terms with the Bagginses. I listened absently, nibbling hungrily on my dinner.

"Hobart Chubb and his family will have to come, I suppose," considered Bilbo, taking a deep drink from a wineglass and scribbling in a notebook at his elbow.

"His son — Percy — isn't he the one who tried to climb down our chimney last year?" Frodo made a face, spearing a bite of seasoned chicken. "I forget why, I think his mother put him up to it."

"Yes, that's the one," Bilbo chuckled. "Now the Chubbs have got to come, so we can return the young Percy's pants to them."

"They are a bit sooty," Frodo reminded.

"They won't take kindly to that," Gandalf warned, leaning back composedly in his chair. "And your other departing gifts — who will find humor in those, I wonder?"

Frodo looked sidelong at me, suspicious. He said cautiously, obviously thinking I had no right to hear what they were saying, "Lobelia deserves those spoons, even if it does seem like a last slap in the face."

It had taken me a while to catch on to their conversation, and I finally grasped that they were talking about _the _Party, Frodo and Bilbo's last birthday together, Bilbo's night to leave the Shire forever, and Frodo's inheriting of Bag End and the Ring — _the_ Long-Expected Party. And Lobelia, I remembered, didn't much like Bilbo or Frodo, and she had stolen some spoons from Bag End when Bilbo was away on his first adventure. Taken aback, I squeaked mutedly and sat for a long time before I noticed that the three others had moved on to a different subject, and Bilbo was addressing me.

"… And since one hundred and eleven years _is_ such a long time, and Frodo is meeting his coming-of-age, it is only proper to have one large party together, with most of the Shire in attendance, plus you." The hobbit went over the jotted names in his notebook, tickling his chin with the feather quill he was using to write. "That means we have a total of seventy-four guests at the moment."

I blinked. "I'm sorry?"

Hopeful, Bilbo looked over his gold-rimmed spectacles. "You will come, won't you? It would be inappropriate for you not to!"

A picture of me, a giant girl, sitting on a huge lawn with a hundred hobbits, flashed over my vision, and it wasn't a very pleasant image. I wanted more than anything to be a part of my favorite story, but it didn't feel right to intrude on something so fragile. I stuttered a weak refusal, "I couldn't — I'm sure I'd be in the way, and someone else, someone you really want to be there, can take my spot — "

Bilbo slipped his feather pen into the pages of his book, laughing merrily. "My dear Jo! I wouldn't _ask_ you to be there if I didn't really _want_ you to be there!" That settled, he hopped out of his chair, tucking the guest book under his arm broodingly. "There is still a good deal to get done — invitations, food, music, tents, lamps, gifts…" He gestured to Gandalf, "The rest of the fireworks?"

"They will be here by the Winterfilth," the wizard guaranteed, using what I could only guess was the Shire's formal term for September.

The hobbit clapped his hands together earnestly. "Very well then! Two months is not long, but somehow I will have everything settled before the 22nd." He sidled toward the door, lost in thought. "Jo," he added graciously, "you are our guest for as long as you wish. Please feel free to ask for anything. You won't see much of me the next few weeks, I'm afraid," he snorted, sounding both annoyed and satisfied. "However, Frodo and his friends should be enough to keep you entertained, in case you need something to do." The two Bagginses shared a knowing look, Bilbo's expression still carrying traces of amusement.

"How long are you planning to stay with us, Gandalf?" Frodo asked.

"I plan to leave tomorrow, if possible." The old man held a hand up, silencing Bilbo's sorrowful protest. "There are other things that need to be accomplished in two months' time."

They kept mentioning the two months until September — so the date was still sometime in July then, in Middle-earth, like it had been at home. I guessed the day to be roughly somewhere around 12 July.

"Would you like to see our library?" I jumped, startled to see that Frodo was examining me, chewing food offhandedly. "I'm sure we have some books that aren't written in Elvish, which you would probably be able to read."

After hastily finishing my lunch, taken with the option of learning more about the strange place I was in (and I was even more willing to spend time with an attractive storybook character), I was led to a low-ceilinged room lined with shelves filled with books. Several of their titles I could not decipher, written in mysterious, creepy tongues along their hard, dusty bindings. I looked around the library, spellbound, Frodo going around me, searching for something. There was a fireplace and a wide birch desk, equipped with matching chairs and a smaller table where a candelabrum was glowing. An open window let in cool air from the gardens. It was a very hobbit-ish setting, and the sight of an adolescent Frodo Baggins in front of me was making my head spin.

The hobbit slid a large hardback from a dusty shelf, smiling at me. "This is one of my favorite places to come for a chance to think. Bilbo has been using this particular study for a long time; he's writing a book about his adventures with Gandalf." He swiped his small hand across the soiled cover of the volume he had taken down, and after a moment was satisfied, lifting it up for me. "We have several Elvish texts, but this is a book written in the Common Speech of Middle-earth. It's nothing more than a history textbook about the races and geography of this land, but maybe you could find some interest in it."

I opened it to the first page and strained through the first few words:

_Thy land is greater than one would have ever dared to envisage; thy ages were long after the dawn of Time;_ _and Time is ever and anon coming to its End._

_Here follows a lone account of the happenings thenceforward, after the dawn of Time, and how the lands and the inhabitants of the lands changed through_ t_he inevitable wayward course of Time._

I tried not to grimace at the confusing, Shakespearian-like arrangement of the confounding words, and I said intently to Frodo, really grateful for his thoughtfulness, "Thank you so much."

He shrugged it away and picked out a book of his own. Gandalf peeked his gray head in as we settled ourselves in for some reading. "So you're both going to spend the day lost in Hobbit ramblings?"

"Or in the ramblings of wizards," Frodo corrected. "Remember, Gandalf, you brought Bilbo half of these books."

The wizard smiled and vanished.

I spent the rest of the afternoon reading with a hobbit named Frodo Baggins in a study at Bag End. Or at least I was attempting to concentrate on a chapter about the colonization of the Shire's biggest city, Michel Delving, but my eyes kept straying to the hobbit stretched across the ground at my bare feet. I couldn't believe it. I had just awoken here an odd couple of hours ago — and I was invited to Bilbo and Frodo's Birthday Party. I must have been a charming sleeper, luckily, or else I would've still been dying up in the Hill's woods.

The next day passed uneventfully, or as uneventfully as a day could go in Bag End, with strange visitors in and out of the _smial_ on "Party Business," Bilbo said, and with me wandering around the tunnels for an hour, searching for a bathroom or my quarters, until I happened to run into either of the Bagginses. I soon got used to the weaving halls and the hobbits' strange eating habits ("Of course we eat more than three meals a day! Have you ever heard of a decent hobbit who didn't?"), and I even finished a chapter of the history chronicle Frodo had given me. There was so much to discover and to surprise me, so much that hadn't been told about in the books. Eventually I ventured outside into the gardens running along one side of the Hill, feeling meddlesome and in the household's way.

Gandalf had left the very day after I roused myself in this time, as he had chosen and stated at lunch, departing the Shire early in the morning before anyone had risen. "That's how old Gandalf is," Bilbo had revealed to me. "He doesn't like to attract unnecessary attention."

Bilbo was up to his pointy little ears in a more demanding type of "Party Business," and Frodo was, like me, wanting to help but feeling like an obstacle. The hobbit had found other diversions in Hobbiton, though, and I was left to tend to my thoughts. There was plenty of stored-away inquisitiveness for me to mull over.

The dress Bilbo had ordered for me had come in within a day, and even though it was a uniform wardrobe for any hobbit, it was a true work of art to me. Its skirts swept down gracefully and thankfully hid my feet, which were dirty and battered from walking around without shoes so long. It was not made of a fabric I had ever seen, dyed a muddy-red color, tight at the waist and shoulders, with loose sleeves barely covering my elbows. The master Baggins had promised more dresses and a gown, to wear at the Party. I was constantly thanking him for all that he did. Secretly, I preferred wearing Frodo's pants and shirt, and I always would have, except that properness required I be dressed in skirts.

I left the hobbit-hole through a back door and stepped out onto a grassy shelf cut into the Hill, the land sloping down under me. There was a little path on the fabricated shelf, and I meandered around it to a small flight of steps, entering the gardens. Surrounded by a circle of pruned shrubbery, it was filled with plants and budding flowers I had never seen before, and I was instantly bombarded with a faultless rainbow of vivid color. I sat on a stone bench in the center of the loop, drinking in the beauty of the vegetation and the radiance of the sun and the breath of a sweet breeze. Above a neatly trimmed hedge, there was a wide round window. I imagined a ruffled Sam Gamgee being yanked up by a strong wizard's arm there, and laughed. I discovered myself completely lost, both physically and mentally.

_Here I am, in Middle-earth_, I thought repetitively. _How do I start sorting all this out?_ In all honesty, I was clueless, and I leaned forward with my elbows on my knees for a long time, waiting for an explanation that wouldn't come. I wasn't impatient about leaving or going back home, even though the aching melancholy was present, wanting a familiarity of my home and family. And if I were ready to leave Bag End, no one would stop me, lest of all Bilbo. On the other hand, I was extremely young by hobbit standards, and I wasn't sure what kind of responsibility the Bagginses felt they had for me.

A very, very, very late reaction suddenly sent electricity all the way to my fingertips. The excitement of being around hobbits and a wizard for a couple of days, and getting settled in the new atmosphere, hadn't left me with much time to myself. I jumped up and nearly screamed, "Oh my goodness! I'm at Bilbo Baggins's house!" I slapped my hands to my cheeks, scatterbrained like a fanatic teenager would have been to meet her favorite movie star. But this was so much better than meeting a mere actor… this was real! I squealed, grinning like an idiot and wringing my hands gleefully, "I'm in Bag End!"

A gruff voice suddenly broke into my shouting. "Yes, you are, Miss. Are you lost?"

Feeling humiliated heat rush to my face, I spun and laid my eyes directly on a stocky hobbit leaning on a shovel, frowning up at me cannily. His plain white shirt and patterned vest were both soiled with dirt, his sleeves rolled up to show strong, tanned arms. An innocent face was bordered by sandy-blonde hair matted with filth. I didn't answer the accusatory question, and he went on in a slightly lifting voice, "May I ask what you're doing in Mr. Bilbo's garden?"

"I — I'm sorry — I've been staying here — " I pointed vaguely back at the _smial_, ineffectively explaining what I had been doing. "I came for a walk — didn't mean to disturb you, sir — "

A look of recognition came to the gardener, and it was his turn to stutter. "Oh! Jo — Miss Jo — sorry…" Stabbing his spade into the moist soil, he winced distraughtly, scratching at the side of his head. He sighed, exasperated, "Well, goodness gracious, since I've gone and bungled all the introductions anyhow, I'll go on, then — I'm Sam Gamgee. So sorry."

My humiliation and fretfulness was dissolved rapidly, replaced with a loyal affection for Samwise Gamgee, and just like that, the hobbit took a tender spot in my heart that would never diminish. Nonetheless,it was like a bizarre scene from the _Twilight Zone_ — me reaching for his earth-crusted hand, shaking it, and having a hard time remaining straight-faced, saying, "I'm Jo, Mr. Sam," mimicking the way he used formal titles.

"Sam," he corrected, shouldering a leather pack of garden tools spiritedly, throwing several bundles of seed aside. He analyzed me, getting right to the point. "It's the most strange circumstances that bring you to us, Mr. Frodo told me."

"Is that what he said?" I sniffed faintly, inhaling the pure, grassy, outdoor scents, wondering if I was to be plagued forever by the reality that I was not from this time. Would everyone solely know me as "that human girl from another world"? But Frodo had spoken of me to Sam, and that was something that excited me. "I don't know what to think, really."

"Now, you shouldn't be worrying about anything," Sam heartened. "Mr. Bilbo knows a bit about strange adventures… more than anyone around here, if you take my meaning."

I did, more or less; I had not fully read _The Hobbit_ or any other Tolkien work other than _The Lord of the Rings_, but I knew enough of Bilbo's beginnings and how he had gone to destroy a dragon, something like that, and how he had taken a Ring from the creature named Gollum.

"Have you been enjoying the Hill? We've not had much rain lately, to be honest. It's ruining the cabbages." He said it lightly and with humor, but I could tell the topic disturbed him. He was a true gardener to the core.

"It's very nice here," I replied deferentially, admiring the rolling hills that I glimpsed through waving branches. "I haven't gone much farther than the front road, on my own. Even now, it's a lot to take in. I feel like I'm dreaming, standing here with you." I was self-conscious about how much I had said, and all the more when Sam laughed openly at me.

"I'm no dream, miss!" And to prove it, he took my hand and walked me back to Bag End for the third hobbit-luncheon of the day.

"Men have never interested me much," he remarked, dropping his shoulder bag by the door, "and I hope you take no offense in my saying so, Miss Jo — the Big Folk have their own notable qualities — you're the first I've ever met, to be honest, and — " Here his faced colored slightly in his bashfulness, " — a very nice Lady you are. But I am more curious about Elves… I should love to someday see an Elf." His words ached with yearning.

I squeezed his hand, my fingers still unbelievably clutched in his. "I'm sure you will someday," I said with more confidence than I should have expressed. I didn't care. The one thing I was indisputably good at was listening to others and being able to encourage them. And holding their hands.

Sam didn't seem to notice anything, strolling beside me and waiting as I bent nearly double to get through the small door leading inside Bag End. He crossed his arms over his chest, not reaching for my hand again. He went on, "Mr. Frodo goes out often at odd times, and some have said he meets with Dwarves… and Elves… in the woods. Mr. Bilbo used to, but lately his walks have ceased." His sigh was tinged with the slightest bit of jealousy.

Ducking now and then, I held his remarks, soaking them into my mind. I wasn't sure if I should say something, and how I might have said it. I was surprised he had opened his heart to me so quickly and so straightforwardly, but I had no objections to it. A rapturous smile was still pulling on my features when we turned a corner and nearly collided with the aforementioned Frodo.

The hobbit had been engrossed with the notebook he was reading, which he hastily flipped closed upon meeting us and tripped backward a couple of feet. Sam was unruffled.

"The gardening's done, Mr. Frodo," he announced proudly, then pointed at me, "and I've brought your Lady back to you, sir."

Sam made me out to be a lost pet puppy found and carried home to her master. Frodo smiled bemusedly in my direction, setting his notebook away. "Thank you, Sam," he accepted. "I was just coming to fetch you both for tea. Bilbo has found time for a break, and it may be your last chance to see him for a while."

Afternoon tea was served in a dining room next door to the study, and our conversations were easy and unforced. I was saying little, content to drift between engaged attentiveness and snippets of daydreams. My thoughts moved to my home.

I smirked into my teacup, reflecting on those lost times when the sanctuary of the Shire had been the one thing I wanted most. Another voice, not one of my friends' or my parents', all at once broke through my reverie. Bilbo was nodding at me. "So you like that idea? It will be good for you to see the rest of the Row and Hobbiton, and good for Frodo, if I may say so. He's getting restless."

As I fought to figure out their discussion, Frodo snorted playfully at his uncle. "Am I the one who is getting restless? I'm not the one planning a 'little joke' to stupefy half of the hobbit population. The whole of the Shire will feel terribly put out, Bilbo."

"They'll rejoice that old Mad Baggins has finally left them in peace," Bilbo retorted, wiping his mouth daintily with a napkin. "Now, back to this business about your outing tomorrow."

"Pippin is staying in Hobbiton, and he should like to come: Merry would, too, but I can't seem to find him anywhere." Frodo uncovered a dish of biscuits and passed them to me. "Celandine Black told me that he was seen yesterday at Whitfurrows."

"He told me he had to do something for his father," Sam put in.

"Well, how early will you be leaving?" Bilbo was checking names off a list, most of them abnormal and environmentally centered, like _Rob Goldworthy_ or _Poppy Fields_ or _Malta Millbanks_. Humming a riddling melody, the hobbit took out a slip of parchment and began to write in swirling calligraphy:

_Please be our Guest at this most Monumental Occasion, for we are celebrating a Birthday! Taking place on the Thursday dated September 22, at Bag End, on Bagshot Row of the Hill, Hobbiton. Responses Requested. _

_Most sincerely Yours _

_Bilbo Baggins._

"I don't think we'll be going too early," Frodo answered, peeking sideways at me. "Would you be satisfied if we left after breakfast, Jo?"

I finally voiced my perplexity. "Umm… what?"

"Pippin Took and I are going to Hobbiton in the morning, to get your finished clothes and do a number of odd jobs for Bilbo. If you don't want to — "

"I'm sorry," I blushed, "I didn't hear any of that. I'd really like to come."

Slouching over his food, Sam watched us converse interestedly, perking up. "I'll go too, sir — shouldn't be too much trouble, should it? All the errands you wanted run, and the yard work, and the business about the party tents: it's all done, Mr. Bilbo."

"I'm sure that would be fine, Sam. Your father, our Gaffer, can take care of anything else I may need." Bilbo could write and speak at the same time without losing concentration on either. "The tailor's shop opens right before noon, Frodo, so you can go there first. The postmen I hired to carry my letters agreed to meeting you later in the town square." He _hum drummed_ abstractedly, skillfully folding the completed letter. "I've gotten little more than a quarter of the invitations done. With luck, I expect to finish the one hundred and forty-fourth in a couple of weeks — but they have yet to be mailed and delivered and replied to, and that could take a month. I do hope I haven't overlooked anybody." The hobbit didn't sound exceedingly concerned. "It really is clever," he chuckled to me, "because Frodo and I will be one hundred forty-four years old, with our ages put together on our birthday, so that is how many Important People are invited to the Party. I hope I didn't forget anyone," he said again.

"Even if you did forget someone," Frodo declared, "they'd be here on the 22nd anyhow."


	6. Hobbits' Day Out

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own any of Tolkien's characters or the world he created. The only character of mine (Jorryn) has decided to take a holiday in Tolkien's Middle-earth. No copyright infringement on any of J. R. R. Tolkien's works is intended.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** It's time for some action and adventure, I think. At least, I hope Jo's brief interlude in Hobbiton is enough to be considered an adventure! Jo travels down the Road with Sam and Frodo, and meets a Fool of a Took on the way. A certain Brandybuck is found in Hobbiton, also, but in a way you wouldn't expect! Also: I just want to send a huge **THANK YOU **to all who have reviewed and to those who will. :) And in answer to a couple of questions I received:

_1._**Icefire**** Queen** — I have no beta. This story formed in my head over the summer holidays, and since then it has been put on paper, reread, chopped apart, and reread again many times. I run the spellchecker quite often. :) Thanks for your compliments!

_2._**Nissa**— Rosie Cotton… hmm… I know she'll be at the Party, but Sam will want to dance with Jo first, of course. Rosie comes second. (Ha!) Thanks for your review!

I love questions! If anyone ever wants to know anything, just ask!

**5**

I decided long before we left for Hobbiton the next morning that I would need shoes after a very short while of enduring the rough terrain. The hobbits took no notice as I limped over gravel and sand behind them, flinching and shuffling, throwing up clouds of the rust-red dirt. The two of them had donned plain brown jackets, and were carrying small gunnysacks stuffed with Bilbo's invitations. Sam smoked lethargically, the acrid fumes carrying back to me on a light wind, and talked to Frodo about anything that happened to come to him.

Hobbiton was beautiful, like a painted landscape of lush grassland or wooded hills, and red-soiled roads were sliced into the distant, lush plains like gashes from a knife. Clouds of the early day drifted across the sky, bringing smells of rain and fresh humidity. The Row was lined with fencing overgrown by vegetation, and behind the fences were well-tended gardens beside paths leading up to circular hobbit-hole doors.

Bagshot Row was not heavily populated, and we trekked down the Hill basically undisturbed, but Frodo had warned me that the hobbits would spy on us. I caught a good number of them pulling curtains back and poking their heads between the fence posts. In the beginning, I stared right back at them, amusing Frodo and Sam when the spies darted out from under my glare.

I saw that a friend was waiting for us at the end of the Row, leaning on a jutting stake at a crossroads before a yellow hobbit-hole door. He was a bit taller than any other hobbit I'd met so far and more near to my height, with a small, rounded nose and shining jade-green eyes. His thin lips turned very slightly, buy naturally, up at the corners, giving him a certain know-all, smart-alecky appearance — and I thought he was adorable. "Pippin!" called Frodo gladly.

"Hullo, Frodo. Let me help you, Sam, if you will." The hobbit gave me a curious, sidelong glance, meeting us halfway up the Hill, taking one of the bags off Sam's shoulder. His voice, carrying a charming, rolling inflection on his words, would have been Scottish during our Time. "Master Bilbo has his hands full with this one, doesn't he?"

"He does come to be exhausted at the end of the day," Frodo admitted, trudging on without pause. "This Party is giving him something to do, by the looks of it, and that's one good thing."

"And a grand Party it will be!"

After a moment, the new member of our crowd changed the subject without warning, dropping back to keep pace with me. I looked down at him, and found his emerald gaze was giving me a careful once-over. "So this is the Lady we rescued from the wood?" he smirked lopsidedly. "I'll have you know, it took three sturdy hobbits and a wizard to get you out of there and into Bag End. Not to mention all the nights spent looking after you; you slept beautifully, but Gandalf worried that you may become too comfortable, and might have slipped off to a place of no return."

"Check yourself, Master Peregrin," Sam said, as I frowned uncomfortably, wondering if I should apologize for all the trouble I had been.

"And so you meet our friend Peregrin Took, son of Paladin, who has obviously not yet mastered any control over his own tongue," Frodo announced with a smile.

"I'm called Pippin, if you please, Milady." When he said it, his name was mixed with his bright accent, and it sounded like "Peppin."

I stumbled over a branch on the road, my toes earning another bruise, and Sam's hand came up, trying to be helpful, to my right shoulder. I hissed painfully, his fingers pressuring and stinging the slashed and bruised skin there. Clenching my jaw, I nodded at the hobbit and replied, squelching the hurt, "I'm Jo."

"You are coming back to your health quickly, I see," Pippin observed. "You had all of us worried at the start, and even Gandalf wondered what could have made you so ill. We weren't positive you would recover."

"Well, she's better, and we know now what it was," said Frodo.

Samwise shifted his load of letters on his back. "Our Lady is from another Time, sir!"

The hobbit looked only somewhat baffled. "And what time would that be?"

They turned back to me, and I supplied reflexively, "2001."

For the first time all morning the hobbits stopped, just at the edge of Hobbiton, their sacks slipping from their clutches. Sam narrowed his eyes, and Pippin's mouth pulled into a tightened line. "By our reckoning, it is the year 1401," said Frodo softly, full of something between wonder and alarm.

I wasn't sure what to say. "Our times," I stammered, "they aren't the same."

"There you go, sir," said Sam, satisfied enough. "Miss Jo has a different reckoning, and that can be understood. So the years would have to be imbalanced."

We resumed our walk, and I was gawked at plainly in the town square of Hobbiton. There were low, straw-roofed houses and shops, and vendors were setting out fruit, vegetables, and bread on their displays. I was a head sticking out several centimeters above a sea of curly hair, taller than almost anything they had save for a couple of trees and the tops of their huts.

The hobbits were diverse, even if the majority of them were all rather plump, dressing basically alike; and naturally, nearly every male had a long pipe fixed in his mouth. Some families were remarkably scruffy, and had disheveled clothing and hair, but others carried themselves with exaggerated pride and dignity, wearing only moderately decent dresses and coats. After being in the calm, unpretentious presence of Bilbo Baggins for more than a few minutes, I knew that he was not any type of scruffiness or inflated splendor. He was elegant purely because of his honest personality.

"So how old are you, then?" Pippin asked curiously.

"I'm sixteen years old."

Pippin was crestfallen, his shoulders slumping visibly. "And here I was, hoping that you would take my place as the youngest of us."

Sam and Frodo laughed good-naturedly. "Poor Pip," said Frodo with understanding, patting his friend on the back. "You'll catch up to us one day."

"I doubt it," said the hobbit, feigning resentment. "Not if you show the same signs of 'well-preservedness' that Bilbo has acquired. What if it runs in the Bagginses' family? Merry, Sam, and I will end up as wrinkled, rotting prunes, while you will still look to be just out of your 'tweens.' "

"I'm well past twenty years already, Peregrin, and moving quickly to my thirty-third birthday," grinned Frodo.

"Don't let it go to your head," said Pippin, turning his head to shoot me a swift, confiding wink. He whispered, "He'll be ordering us around within a week after his Party."

While we waited for a pushcart and a group of chickens to pass us, I noticed a lake on the far side of the houses. A tilting, rickety-looking dock jutted out into the lake, its wood dark and festering. A waterwheel was churning beside Hobbiton's millhouse, one that was surrounded by a wire fence and jagged, crisscrossed planks. An arching bridge of marvelous stonework stretched across the lake to lands beyond. I was surprised that the hobbits would build so near to water, which they hated. I knew Frodo's own mother and father had left him an orphan when they drowned after a boating accident long ago.

We went to the tailor's shop first, picking up three large boxes that held my new clothes and could barely be held by Pippin. After much dispute, I took the dresses from him and carried them myself. The shop's owner hid behind his moneybox, gawping blatantly at me and murmuring a thank you to us before we were rushed out the door by a clerk, his son. A seamstress ambled in just when we were being let out, and since I was the last in our single-file line, she saw me scrape my head on the doorframe and heard my annoyed "That hurt, you blasted door," which was followed promptly by the clear hobbit-laughter of my three friends. The seamstress nearly dropped the rolls of bright fabric bundled in her arms.

The hobbits led me past the shops and inns at the edge of the village, going into the town square where a busy market was waking up to the early morning. Smells of sweet produce, mixed in with pipe-smoke and fragrant lawns, lingered in the unpolluted air, and I breathed deeply. Frodo spotted Bilbo's mail carriers immediately; four tough hobbits on short-legged ponies waited under the shade of an awning, their hoods thrown back.

We approached, and one of the postmen looked down at Frodo. "The morning dwindles, Master Baggins," he said, ignoring me pointedly, turning a fearful shoulder on me. "Have you brought the mail we were commissioned to carry?"

"Yes, and Bilbo was nice enough to sort it for you," said Frodo, taking the other bags from Pippin and Sam and handing them up the riders. "These are to go to Bywater, and these to Michel Delving, and this sack is for Bree. There will be many stops along the way, no doubt, around Buckland or the Westfarthing. Bilbo wishes you well on your rides, and hopes that you will be willing to carry the rest of his invitations once they are done."

"For what he's paying," answered the hobbit, "we'd carry his mail over the Misty Mountains, if he were to ask."

Our next stop was at the kitchens of a tavern, where Frodo spoke long with the cook about hiring him for the Party, since over a hundred hobbits would be in attendance and naturally expecting several meals during the day. After that we bought new ink and parchment for Bilbo, collected a package of new dishes and silverware from a shop, and Sam purchased a small leather pouch, which was labeled_ Longbottom Leaf_ in bold print. "No finer pipe-weed," he said to me proudly. Once all matters were resolved, Frodo announced that we could finally head back to the Hill for a late lunch.

"And without ever hearing from Merry," a disappointed Pippin added.

We had gone no farther than the town square when I heard a commotion rising from behind the millhouse by the lake. An obviously stubborn mule had escaped the clutches of its owner and had backed onto the dock that I had seen earlier that morning. The structure creaked and groaned under the weight of the pack animal and the cart that was hitched to its back. A crowd of hobbits was gathering and shouting suggestions or taunts, but they only frightened the mule and agitated the owner. A hobbit boy was wrestling with the mule's reins, a flimsy straw hat tipped over his wild, ginger-colored hair. We slowed, and Sam strained to see what was taking place at the scene.

"Hello!" he exclaimed all at once. "Mr. Frodo — isn't _that_ Merry?"

All of us looked, leaning this way and that, attempting to see around the thronging hobbits. Frodo slapped a hand to the side of his head. "What has he gotten himself into?" he cried.

We dashed to the front of the crowd; an easy task for me, since every hobbit that saw me hovering over them shrank back and made way. The mob's din calmed, and the braying of the mule and Merry's exasperated grunting and coaxing was all that could be heard, along with the noisy moaning of the unstable dock. Sam fixed his hands on his hips and called out in a stern voice, "Meriadoc Brandybuck! Get yourself away from there, it's not safe!"

"It would be better if you would come out to help me, Samwise Gamgee!" Merry answered after a second, recognizing Sam's voice without even looking back. "This mule's gone half mad, and he wouldn't leave his spot now unless his life depended on it."

"That miserable animal's life _is _depending on it," Frodo pointed out, "as is yours! That dock hasn't been used for years. Come to us, Merry!"

"Merry, please!" they all shouted pleadingly.

"Why are you so worried?" Merry asked of us, laughing insecurely. "I've been out on water before — I'm a Bucklander, if you'll remember. I've been on lots of boating trips."

"Are all Bucklanders so foolish as to go out over water without a boat, and risk their lives for a mule?" shouted Frodo.

Pippin murmured to himself, his hands clutched together over his chest, "Hear how the wood cries."

Merry twisted his childish face toward us. "I would love to get off this thing more than anything, Frodo, but my — "

A buzz of intense fear went through the gathering. Merry's words were abruptly cut off by the earsplitting sound of grating wood, and a sharp, chilling _crack_. The planking rocked, and the poor pack animal there reared, wailing fearfully and throwing its ugly gray head. Merry stood frozen on the dock, his face paling. He gave a small shout when another loud splintering of wood sent the dock into a steep downward pitch. The mule howled, shooting forward finally, escaping the dock just before it split entirely, breaking down into the black water below. The last I saw of Merry was a flash of waving arms, and I heard his scream silenced in a distant splash.

The hobbits were frantic, and "What should we do?" they all wondered, frightened, but none were able to move.

"Mr. Frodo, Mr. Frodo!" Sam shouted, his shoulders shaking. "What can be done, what? Poor Merry, he'll be drownded while we stand watching! Poor Merry, what do we do?"

"Hobbits can't swim," Pippin whispered frigidly.

Someone in the crowd murmured, hope lost in his voice as he spoke of Frodo's lost parents, "That's exactly how Drogo and Primula died — drownded in the water. And here the poor lad Frodo has lost another… some say it's his family's luck."

Frodo looked absolutely sick.

I felt as though my legs and mind had been turned into lead, but slowly, like the wheels of a factory grinding to life at the start of the day, my brain began to work again. It only took a moment of reckless thought, or perhaps a moment of no thought at all, for me to decide what to do. I had no flashes of surreal heroism, and I had no wish to declare myself fearless and superhuman in front of the hobbits, but something had to be done. These hobbits were certainly unable to do anything. I just thrust my packages into the nearest hobbit's arms, gathered my skirts up from the ground, and raced over the edge of the broken dock.

The water was dark and cloudy under me, and rushed up swiftly to meet my feet as I blundered down the muddy bank. I looked over the calm lake briefly, watching ripples in the murkiness, and glanced up over my shoulder to gauge distance. I saw the hobbits clustered at the edge of the upper bank, watching, and I felt urgency gather on me once more. The fall Merry had taken was not far, but probably it looked like miles to a hobbit. I waded hurriedly into the lake until I was bouncing on my toes, the freezing water up to my chin, and then I took a hasty breath and plunged under. Frodo's voice came pleadingly, just before the water rushed to my ears, "Jo, don't — !"

I had never been able to open my eyes underwater before, but I forced my eyelids up now, and blinked into the brownish gloom. With eyes stinging, I swam forward, my skirts swirling hinderingly around my ankles. Debris drifted freely in my face, and tall, waving arms of underwater weeds groped for my legs. I soon began to panic. _I can't find him, and I can't hold my breath much longer! What am I supposed to do if he isn't found?_ I was evidently not the best swimmer in the world.

Depressingly dim, the sun glinted down and filtered into the lake, casting little light useful for seeing. My vision was starting to blur, and my head was light. Going deeper, I soon felt rough sand and pebbles under my hands, pressure building in my ears. I clung to the lakebed, thinking momentarily of horror movies I had seen, and brief images of drowned pirates and twisted skeletons and withered bones half-buried under deadly sands passed over my eyes. At that moment something soft dragged threateningly across my back.

I let out a muted scream and spun, my hair covering my sight. I released my hold on the ground and jerked back, pushing my locks away to reveal what had touched me. And to my horror, I saw Merry, floating aimlessly, face down, limbs spread loosely out from him. My body aching, I struggled to him and fastened my arms about his waist, my heart beating ever more insistently in my chest.

My touch kindled new life and strength in Merry, and he, alive again, thinking perhaps that I was some marine monster come to capture him, thrashed wildly and kicked at me, scoring a hit in my wounded shoulder. My blood stained the water, and Merry collapsed limp in my arms.

The discolored sunlight I had scorned seconds before was now a more welcome sight than ever. Dragging the hobbit with me, I pushed off the bed of the lake and fought upward one-handedly. My chest and every organ inside it felt uncommonly full, ready to burst if the tension was not released soon. My perception of the water, and the green world over it, suddenly became a smear of orange-brown color, and blackness crept up under me. I was desperate to escape the creeping tendrils of unconsciousness, longing to feel the cool unpolluted Shire air against my face again.

In a blinding blur of daylight, I broke the water's surface, pushing Merry up before me. I came up with a great sputtering gasp, the breath rushing like fire down my throat and burning gratefully into my lungs. I felt for ground with my feet, still coughing, my eyesight clearing bit by bit. Heaving Merry onto the land, I fell wheezing beside him, air rasping into my waterlogged mouth. Before long there were hobbits around us, coming cautiously down, and they dragged us up onto the lush ground near the millhouse. We were laid amid a group of anxious and wondering Hobbiton citizens.

Still worried for him, I rolled over, coughing, to look tiredly at Merry. His ashen face was unmoving, and his skin was cold — he wasn't breathing. I forced myself to sit up, and leaning over him I felt for his pulse. Steps for rescue breathing that I had learned in first aid courses cluttered my mind, mingled with worries that I would make a mistake and Merry would die. My mangled hair dripped trails of salty water down my neck and into my eyes, but something else, something warm, was seeping down my arm, staining my sleeve a blazing red. Without a word, Frodo appeared next to me, pressing a hand to my bleeding shoulder, his fingers trembling.

My own hands were shaking as I tilted Merry's head back and bent close, brushing his sopping curls away from his brow. Then, quickly and not daring to think twice, I covered his lips with my own, pinched his nose shut, and gave him two slow breaths. His chest rose accordingly. I breathed into him twice more, not aware of my silent crying, and when I checked for a pulse again, it was there. Frodo hovered over me, calling his friend back softly, "Come on, Merry, lad, come back to us." Then Merry Brandybuck shuddered, coughed and choked up a lungful of water, and opened his brown eyes.

"That cursed mule — and the cart — are they all right?" he asked immediately.

Pippin, Sam, and Frodo laughed through their tears, falling before him and enveloping him a huge hobbit-hug. And I was drawn in, my drenched, aching form crushed against them, my cheeks covered in sweet kisses that made fear melt away and had me giggling right along with them.


	7. The End of the Day

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own any of Tolkien's characters or the world he created. The only character of mine (Jorryn) has decided to take a holiday in Tolkien's Middle-earth. No copyright infringement on any of J. R. R. Tolkien's works is intended. The songs in this chapter are mine, also. 

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** I hope everyone enjoyed getting to read about Merry's rescue! I wanted his introduction to be something special. :) Now it is time for the hobbits and their Lady to end the day with food and song. Enjoy, and please review! Thanks to everyone who has reviewed and read so far! And more questions! Yay!! 

_1. _**ArwenStar **— Does Sam have a thing for Jo? Hmm… I don't think so… But would you like him to?? :) Your reviews are great, thank you so much!

_2. _**Lorraine **— Will there be a love interest for Jo? Well, I guess everyone will just have to wait… grin But if anyone has an idea of who they think Jo should become involved with, just let me know!! Thanks for reading!

_3. _**kschultz **— Accents? I imagine Bilbo and Frodo's accents to be a bit more cultured and refined, while Sam doesn't try to be elegant, yet he still is extremely cute. Pippin, since he is so young, has a higher voice than the others, and his words come quicker, I think. And Merry (as Jo thinks in this chapter) is quieter and soft-spoken. Thank you so much for your insightful and detailed reviews!!

I love questions! If anyone ever wants to know anything, just ask! 

**

6

**

There is nothing more cheering at the end of a long day than a pleasant meal taken before a warm fire in the company of friends. I came to this conclusion after the hobbits and I returned to Bag End after our very extraordinary outing. Bilbo Baggins met us in the front hallway of his home as we burst in, damp and dripping, and he peered grimly at us, scrutinizing. His expression darkening, the old hobbit's eyes fell onto my dangling, bloodied arm. Merry was leaning resignedly on Sam, and Pippin and Frodo supported me with stubborn strength. We were all short of breath from the uphill climb, and shivering from inside out, our teeth chattering and sounding like those wind-up false teeth chomping toys. 

Visibly troubled, he deposited a stack of papers onto a small table near the doorway leading into the _smial_'s sitting room. "I won't bother to ask," he shrugged at last. "You'll be telling me over supper anyhow. Now, come quickly, I can see you've been through more than a day's worth." 

I was led to a bath near my room, one that I had never even noticed, and Bilbo prepared hot water and towels for me. After a very long, gratifying soak, I changed into the garments that I thought most comfortable — specifically, Frodo's hobbit breeches and shirt. My new dress was mangled and covered in grime, and I felt horrible about ruining it so soon. I was sitting in front of a mirror, dragging my hands through my hair, when Frodo came looking. Without even asking or having to be asked, he dressed and bandaged my battered shoulder, talking distractedly and wrapping the linen strips tight. 

"… There will be a good number of them by the end of the year, mostly near the Green Hill Country, I think, which is why Bilbo's interested," he announced, and I realized that I didn't have any idea what he was explaining to me. I had been preoccupied with watching his boyish reflection in the bathroom mirror, noting how his concentration was centered fully on binding the bandages even while he blathered on about something of the Shire. A smile lit his face suddenly, and his intense gaze met mine in the glass. 

"Am I boring you?" 

He fastened the last strip and straightened the slack collar of my shirt for me. "No, of course not," I assured blushingly, testing the movement of my arm. "It's just been a long day." 

Saying nothing, Frodo's hand moved to squeeze the back of the chair in which I sat. Our reflections stared at each other silently, his tiny mouth pulled into a thin line. "A long day," he echoed after some time. 

I didn't move; for within the mirror I saw a forlorn hobbit that, in my imagination, was wearing a Ring around his neck in a Land of Shadow, the weight of Darkness pulling down on his slumping form. It was far too early for him to be feeling such sorrow, and I wanted more than anything to rid him of his pain. Why did he seem so distraught? 

Turning away, he sighed, picking up scraps of linen and his other doctoring supplies. "We owe much to you, Jo." 

"You did the same for me," I pointed out. "I should be thanking you." 

"You're welcome," he said coolly. "But you know, I think Gandalf would now be saying something to the effect of, 'Adventure follows you, Jorryn. You were meant to be found at Bag End, so you should thank fate instead.' " 

I grinned, tipping my head back to call into the ceiling just above my nose, "Thank you, then, all of you!" 

My body tender, I limped with Frodo to the sitting room, where Merry, Pippin, and Sam were wrapped in blankets, sitting before the blazing fireplace, sipping tea from small china cups. Bilbo bustled around, pouring drinks, fetching more blankets, adding wood to the fire, and helping me into a chair when he saw me. Pippin raised his eyebrow at me as I sat next to him, spying the pants and shirt I wore. 

"Strange attire for a Lady," he observed. 

The other hobbits took quick peeps at me, and Merry said, "She could be a hobbit, though she's a bit tall. She has got our hair." 

Remembering my unkemptness, I made an attempt to smooth my damp, frizzed locks. Without a brush or a modern hair-dryer, my hair had resumed the natural state I had been born with, and it dried as crazily curled and uncontrollably wavy as any of the hobbits'. I flattened my coiled bangs down over my forehead. "I don't have a comb, and I usually never let it air-dry. Besides, I don't know how Shire-people wear their hair." 

"I like it," volunteered Sam, "and we could help you put it up." 

"Oh, yes," said Pippin, setting his teacup to the side and jumping out of his seat. Before I could stop him, he had buried his small hands into my tangled frizz. It reminded me of times when guys in my school had attempted to braid my hair, having no idea of how to wrap and weave sections around others. They had usually just grabbed all of it and thrown it up over my face, gaining an elbow in the stomach or another blindly aimed punch from me. Pippin, however, was more experienced, and I had no intention of hitting him even if he did mess me up even more than I presently was. Who in their right mind would object to Peregrin Took as their hairdresser? 

He was working his fingers over my scalp, dividing and twisting sections of my hair quickly. I waited patiently, watching the other hobbits' faces to see how they reacted to my transforming hairdo. Bilbo stood behind me, his fur-covered feet the only part of him I was able to see out of the corner of my eye. 

"Where did you learn to do that, Pippin?" he asked. 

"I saw Angelica Bolger with her hair like this a week ago," said Pippin idly. "It is nice, though, isn't it?" He tickled the back of my bare neck teasingly. "I'm all done, Jo!" 

I reached up and felt loose braids woven into a halo-like crown on the top of my head. Bending forward, I let the others see what Pippin had made. "I've never seen that done before," Sam said thoughtfully, "but it still looks very nice." 

Pippin returned to his seat and steadied his cup on his knee, beaming at his accomplishment. Then, acting with fantastic and unpredicted courteousness, Merry very suddenly cleared his throat and stood, coming to me and kneeling at my side. "Meriadoc Brandybuck, son of Saradoc, at your service and your family's, please, Miss." 

I was taken aback, not expecting an introduction ceremony just then, and I wondered if I should do something regal like proclaiming him into my debt or touching his shoulders with a sword, but I ended up just saying, "Er, hello — I'm Jorryn." 

He beamed up at me, his mouth slightly crooked, his big ears protruding out of his head more than any other hobbits'. He had the most lilting voice of anyone else I had met, and he seemed to sing his words and put accents on the wrong syllables. His narrow black eyes shone; he had a very sharp chin and a very round nose, and brilliant carrot-colored hair, even on his large hobbit-feet. 

Bilbo settled into an armchair, a plate of food balanced on his lap. "And I'm Bilbo Baggins," he finished mockingly, tired of waiting for the day's story. "Now what have you got to tell me about all of this madness you caused today?" 

The basic details of our morning were recounted by Frodo, with humorous interjections added from Pippin and Sam, the story sprinkled with random details about the weather, the people they had seen, and the prices of the goods they had bought; only hobbits would recall such things. My story would have been mostly about a fairytale trip to a hobbit village, bruised feet, an underwater adventure, and the thrill of feeling Pippin and Frodo's arms around me. 

"But that's just our part of the day," said Frodo. "What did _you_ do this morning, Meriadoc?" 

Merry, who had been snuggling contentedly into his blankets and enjoying his tea, sat up, jolted out of his thoughts. "What do you mean?" 

"We had no idea of where you were," Sam said. "To see you at the Hobbiton millhouse was a surprise for us." 

"I've been in Buckland for almost a week," said Merry matter-of-factly. "My parents inherited a wagonload of old family possessions from Adalgrim Took, and I rode from Bucklebury to get them days ago. There's a good deal of furniture, and there are a few things for you, too, Pippin. 

"I didn't mean at all to end up at the millhouse — it was all that mule's doing. I had started off early from Bywater this morning, so I arrived just before lunchtime. I stopped at the Twisted Trunk tavern for a drink and breakfast, staying perhaps longer than I intended, but when I came out my cart was gone. I chased it down to the millhouse…" He shrugged. "The rest you all know, and I never want to see a pond again." 

"Well, it seems we have Jo to thank, for mostly everything," Bilbo said. 

"Rightfully so," agreed Merry quietly. "Thank you, Jo. I had no idea that finding you on the Hill would mean this much to us." 

His sincerity made my cheeks flush pink. "It's okay," I said, rubbing my sore feet shyly. "But now I think that I share a hobbit's dislike for water." 

They laughed, and Bilbo spoke up abruptly, "I've just thought of a song for you, Jo." 

I couldn't suppress a joyful, unintelligible shriekthat could only come from a _Lord of the Rings_ admirer. "You wrote a song for me, Bilbo?" 

"Well, a verse or so of one," he corrected humbly. He stirred his tea silently, then without any more introduction began to sing in a clear, melodious voice. 

_ In the woods on a Hill _

_ Of a Time little known _

_ There rested a Lady _

_ Found lying alone. _

_ In the care of strangers _

_ She came back to a world _

_ Lost and yet fearless… _

"I haven't figured out the rest," Bilbo relented, his voice dropping into a deep hum, and I was left speechless. An astounding seven lines of a song about me, straight from Bilbo Baggins's head, sung for me by the hobbit himself — it was mind-blowing. I trembled under my blankets, close to euphoric tears. 

"If you were to finish that one, Bilbo," said Frodo, "it would be one of your best, especially since it's true." 

"You do have a lot of them you never finished, Mr. Bilbo," Sam said. "The next line could be something about the three brave hobbits that rescued her, aided by a wizard, and how they carried her away to a deep den to recover, if you know what I'm getting at." 

"Yes," said Bilbo, playing along, "and the gardener of the Hill happened to be a stunningly handsome fellow, too — " 

"Let's have a song now, then, and a whole one, if you please," Pippin suggested. 

There was a thoughtful pause, and a second later Bag End's sitting room was filled with snatches of nonsensical songs competing for my attention. Pippin and Merry belted out rhymes "regarding the welfare of a hobbit's old pony," while Frodo and Sam proved how "a garden's glory is unmatched by all," and Bilbo worked on a second verse for my song. I listened dazedly, my hands warmed by my cup of tea, the fireplace crackling before my toes. 

The scene was picturesque. These hobbits had no idea of what awaited them in the years to come, and until Gandalf would make his last visit to Bag End, they would continue to live contentedly, ignorant of a brewing war gathering on the borders of their Shire. 

I was beginning to nod off, slipping into the pulls of lingering drowsiness. Pippin's voice rose above the others' in a final fight for the spotlight (and his spot was well earned, because his voice really was wonderful), ending the commotion of songs with his last notes. 

_ And the end of the day _

_ Answers not to a call _

_ But when the last comes _

_ The sun seems unready to fall. _

_ O! for a comforting end _

_ In a place found most dear _

_ Where one can wait for a morning _

_ That will rise true and clear._

The next thing I heard was, "I think she's asleep, Mr. Bilbo." 

"I expect that's the first time I've ever put anyone to sleep with my singing." 

A snort followed the delighted comment. "And it'll be the last time, Peregrin, I assure you. No hobbit of this age would ever think of your tuneless drone as 'singing.' " 

"I'm awake," I muttered groggily to interrupt them, stretching, forgetting for a moment where I was, "what do you want?" 

"She behaves much as you do whenever you have to get up, Pip," someone snickered. 

I opened my eyes to a group of mildly amused hobbits, just in time to see Pippin directing a blow at Merry. My head throbbed faintly, and my muscles ached all along the ends of my body. I pressed two fingers to my temple, trying to ease the pounding. 

"You'll get away this time, Jo," Bilbo said gently. "They all wanted a song from you, but I think you should get back to your bed for a while." 

"We still expect one when you feel better," Frodo smiled. 

"And we'll catch you, don't worry," Merry warned with a wink. 

"Can you find your way back to your room?" asked Bilbo. "Hobbit-holes, especially when you are tired, become hard to navigate." 

I made a face and pushed myself to my feet, wavering slightly. "I think I can make it." 

The hobbit frowned and said, "I'll come along, just to settle you in and make sure you have everything." 

Bilbo, being the kind old character that he was, tucked me in with all the grace of a practiced father, pulled curtains over the large round window I had first noticed in this time, and perched a glass of water on a bedside table. I spent the rest of the day in much needed, and well-earned, slumber, floating between dreams of drowning under a deadly shadow and singing old rock and roll songs with hobbits. 


	8. Speaking of Home

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own any of Tolkien's characters or the world he created. The only character of mine (Jorryn) has decided to take a holiday in Tolkien's Middle-earth. No copyright infringement on any of J. R. R. Tolkien's works is intended. 

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Jo and the hobbits will not be idle for long! Hobbits, after all, are not easily bothered, and I'm guessing they've all forgotten about Merry's close call already. Now Jo's company sets out for Pippin's homeland, the Green Hill Country. And more Q & A!! 

_1._**Icefire Queen **— I can tell you for sure that Elves will make an appearance in a later chapter. And Aragorn… I've never considered writing him in… who knows? :) Thanks for your reviews!

_2. _**Audra**­­ — **Does Frodo have a *thing* for Jo?** Something may be developing… any suggestions?? Thank you for reading!

_3__._**ArwenAria18 **— **Will Frodo and Jo pair up? **That is my hope, but who can be sure with hobbits? Frodo is a difficult character. :) **And what is Jorryn going to sing for them?** I don't think it will be anything recent, because newer songs sometimes fail to convey the emotions I'm looking for. It is most likely that my good friends the Beatles will lend a song to Jo. Thank you so much for your review!

**

7

**

I awoke two mornings later with the song "Good Day Sunshine" by the Beatles in my head and on my lips, and on a morning in the Shire a song like that was always true. I thought of home, and having to go to school, or work, or having to go back to the dreary things that seemed to take up so much of my summer holiday time. I thought of my family, and wondered if Time was passing while I was away. Being a well-read fantasy enthusiast, I had studied C. S. Lewis's _The Chronicles of Narnia_, and I knew that while four children had entered a wardrobe and had a lifetime of adventures, growing old in a country within a piece of furniture, no time went by at all in the world outside during their whole period there. I wanted my adventures here in Middle-earth to be the same way: gloriously exciting, romantic, and fairy-tale-like, but I also wanted to end up "in a place found most dear," like Pippin had sung about. 

I picked up my history book from Frodo, which I had become quite attached to as I bumbled through the eloquent chapters, and headed outside feeling totally fresh except for my stinging feet. Bag End was deserted as far as I could tell, and all of the "good rooms" as Bilbo liked to call them, on the left side of the Hall, where I had usually found someone, were empty. I found a note on the undusted fireplace mantle. 

_Good morning Jo! As you have noticed, Frodo and I are out to see about some transportation for today; Samwise came along. Errands must be run this evening in Tuckborough, and you are free to come. Peregrin and Meriadoc will be joining us on the trip south. Since we were opposed to the idea of waking you (you have had a rather rough time lately) we left and are getting you a pony, should you wish to join us. The Gaffer should be in the Garden, and he will help you if you need anything. _

_Sincerely and Most Respectfully Yours _

_Bilbo Baggins._

Tuckborough was a name lost to me, but I dressed quickly, brushed my unbraided hair, and helped myself to some rice-cakes laid out in a kitchen, waiting for my hobbit friends to return. Before long there was noise of a group entering the front hall, hanging cloaks on pegs, and shuffling their bare feet on the mat. 

"So!" said Pippin when I met them halfway in, "you're up! Do you plan to come with us?" 

"If you don't mind, I think I will." 

"Well, then, we'd best be off," Bilbo said. "Tuckborough is a fair step away from here." 

Merry and Frodo hurried to a pantry to gather food for us, and Bilbo advised me to borrow a cape and hood from him. I soon learned that Tuckborough was a town at the very edge of the Westfarthing of the Shire, and was the long-standing home of the ancient Took family. Bilbo wanted to arrive at the Took-town this evening, stay over the night at an inn, and get back to the Hill late tomorrow. Not much was said about other things we'd be doing, just that it was a ten-mile ride or so from Overhill, across The Water, through Hobbiton and Bywater, and along the boundary of the Shire's Westfarthing to Tuckborough, within the Green Hill Country. I wondered, was that what Frodo had been talking about the day before yesterday when I had been too busy admiring him to listen? Sam showed me our short route, tracing his finger on a map Bilbo owned. The roads and hills ended abruptly along the left side, cutting off the sloping curves of hills and downs. 

"There are said to be Elf Towers in the West, along the Sea," he said dreamily, his pointing finger drifting off the edge of the map and into the separated boxes of a hanging calendar next to it. "The Gaffer doesn't believe it, but I know Mr. Bilbo's stories are true, and someday I _will _see an Elf, even if I have to go West to do it. A terrible thing, the Sea," he added. "It takes and never gives anything useful back." 

I bit my tongue to repress the knowledge I held of Frodo's seaway departure I had read of in _The Return of the _King, just after the beginning of Middle-earth's Fourth Age. It was an ending I had never liked and yet loved, always at the same time, because it was both the saddening conclusion of an awesome saga and a soft finish filled with gentle, loving goodbyes. "How could something so beautiful ever come to an end?" I had wondered that summer night, at two o'clock in the morning, moments after tearfully reading of the Elven ship's sailing from the Grey Havens. 

I blinked. I was standing in Bag End's lavish front hall, Samwise Gamgee at my elbow, six hobbit-ponies waiting outside the _smial_'s round, green door. Meriadoc Brandybuck poked his head in from the sitting room, asking about knapsacks to keep food supplies in, and Sam left to help find a few. I stood alone, sad and overcome with a cloud of imagery, filled with memories of vivid battles, heroic adventures, jokes around a campfire, talk of dark magic Rings, and a resounding promise: "I will take the Ring, though I do not know the way." 

The same promise's voice suddenly called to me, light and sweet and cheerful, "Jo, could you help Pip with the ponies? One's gotten away from him and is tearing up the Gaffer's hedges." 

Our trip was slow and easy, and we went with frequent stops, either to admire the Shire's stunning countryside or yield to someone's pleas for a rest. Everything was so impossibly green and lush and beautiful that I almost felt sick, or like I wanted to cry. The Misty Mountains were small and hazed over, in the East, and the surrounding hills were covered in patches of vibrant flowers springing up randomly in the long grass. At the crest of one knoll we looked down on the Green Hill Country, and I stood mesmerized beside my fat little pony until Sam grasped my hand and gave it a tug, pulling me along down the road. Our path wound over clear streams and under shady groves, and as far as I could see there was a stretching blanket of green, and a path that led forever West to the Sea. 

"So tell us about your Time, Jo," Merry asked eventually, sitting comfortably in his saddle. "You've never really said much about it, and you never say anything about yourself, either." 

"What would you like to know?" I asked shyly, not sure what to say. 

"Everything," Pippin said earnestly. 

"Well," I began, "I live in a very small town in the middle of nowhere, in a community where everyone knows everyone and there are no secrets. It's the summer holiday now, or was, I guess. School was about to start." 

"Sounds lovely," Frodo said disdainfully, "having to go to something like that." 

"It can be useful. Last year wasn't so bad," I defended. "I could already tell that school wasn't going to be fun this year, though. Everybody I knew just a year ago has changed into someone else." 

"Corruption?" Bilbo inquired darkly. 

It was ironic, coming from him, the hobbit who was even at that moment being dragged down by a certain Ring. But I nodded and continued. "I have a brother and two sisters, all younger than me, and huge families on both sides." 

"And what of the World?" Pippin pressed. "What is Middle-earth like, in your Time?" 

I slumped under the weight of the question. "I… I don't know. Middle-earth doesn't exist any more where I come from." 

"What?" came their angry cries of disbelief. 

"I don't know," I repeated. "It's not the same, at least — the World has changed, and there is no place called Middle-earth. But some people believe that the lands just evolved and Middle-earth became one of the modern countries that I know." 

The hobbits said nothing. 

I swallowed a lump in my throat, watching them become so visibly depressed. _Stupid, stupid, stupid. I can never say the right things._ "That's what I thought at first," I said softly, "that you were all a dream, a part of a book. That's how it was when I first woke up here. I am real and you all aren't." 

"We're real, Miss Jo," said Sam, sounding a little desperate. 

"I know," I murmured. 

"Make-believe characters would have half a brain in their heads," Frodo said, lightening the mood, "and they wouldn't go and throw themselves off a dock, would they?" 

"Or the dock wouldn't go throwing a poor character off it," Merry retorted, turning back to me. "What is… was… your life like? Or is it as dark as the World you live in, and shouldn't be talked about?" 

My mind coasted back to the summer almost coming to an end, to the aching regret of passing time I had felt during every day's end. I could recall exhaustion, and boredom, but an occasional excitement that brightened the entire holiday. "I was busy all the time," I remembered, "or at least that's the way I felt. I had a job and worked with a group of girls — we had a terrible boss — and we were always doing things together. It was kind of a community job, where we helped everyone. We were just starting on a fireworks sale the day… the day I… left." 

"Fireworks?" Bilbo piped up delightedly. 

"Nothing like Gandalf's," I said, rolling my eyes and realizing the feebleness of human fireworks. "Ours are stupid little things that last for no more than a few seconds, usually, and they are never really good unless you buy huge ones. I've heard of Gandalf creating dragons and dancing lights out of his. We're lucky if we can make a firework that even resembles a loop." 

"You'll see some real mastery of fireworks, then, my dear, come September," laughed Bilbo. 

"What were your friends like?" Frodo asked. 

"My friends? I suppose they were all right, but never really completely dependable. And some of the people I used to call my friends are drifting away, because they are getting to be so messed up." Various names flitted into my head, yet they were brushed away at once with a glance to the hobbits around me. "I feel like the friends I do have don't really understand the way I think anyway. My parents didn't even understand me." 

A breeze whispered through our hair and the thick branches of trees above us, bringing a scent of rain and flowers. "Anyone can be understood," Frodo reasoned quietly, "but not everyone can understand." 

I frowned, wondering if I had heard correctly what the young Baggins had said, and Bilbo smiled, reached across, and patted his adopted nephew on the back. "Frodo my lad, that was a very Gandalf sort of thing to say." 


	9. Friends in Tuckborough

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own any of Tolkien's characters or the world he created. The only character of mine (Jorryn) has decided to take a holiday in Tolkien's Middle-earth. No copyright infringement on any of J. R. R. Tolkien's works is intended. 

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** I hope everyone had a happy Christmas!! _The Fellowship of the Ring_ was incredible, and the hobbits were adorable. :) Jo and the hobbits take a stroll in Pippin's hometown. 

_1. _**Kaeera — How old is Pippin?** According to the ancient reckoning of Middle-earth, Pippin was born in the year 2990 of the Third Age. This story takes place the same year Bilbo's Birthday Party does, and that was in III 3001. That would make Pippin eleven years old. He was twenty-eight when the hobbits left the Shire with Frodo. **Is Jo an invented character? **I think I did put a lot of myself into Jo, but we are not exactly the same. She definitely talks more than I do. :) Thanks for your questions and your review!

_2. _**Rumpleteasza — :) **I thank you very much for being willing to accept Jo. I _tried_ to give her some realistic qualities and human faults. I hope you continue to enjoy her adventures!****

**

8

**

I remained for a long time after dawn in my twisted bedsheets and blankets, bemused and tired, watching dust particles dance in a shaft of light coming through a nearby window, signaling the start of another day in Middle-earth. Those were the mornings I loved, when at first I didn't really remember where I was, and then I would look and see hobbits lying, _breathing_, in the same room with me. 

The hobbits and I were in Tuckborough's Cracked Boulder Inn, all of my group still asleep save for me, all of them snoring and gurgling in their dreams. As soon as we had arrived late yesterday, the hobbits had turned eagerly to the tavern for food and drink first, inviting me good-naturedly to join them, but even though I loved spending time with them, I had declined and clomped straight to our rooms, dead to the world before I even hit my pillow. I had heard them come up some time later — they clamored up the staircase to the door riotously, yet for my sake they managed to slip in quietly enough so that I wasn't overly disturbed. They hadn't asked me what I thought about us all sharing our quarters; then again, if they had, there was no way on earth that I would have ordered them to stay in a room of their own. I giggled at the very thought. 

Rolling over to my side, I watched "my hobbits" (as I had affectionately, and secretly, began to call them) remain peacefully asleep, lost in some fantasy of food or sunshine, I guessed. I bit my lip to stifle a mixture of ecstatic tears and bubbly giggles, thinking again of how any _Lord of the Rings _fan would give nearly anything to be in my position. 

My unabashed stare went to Sam Gamgee first, who was sleeping on a bed at the foot of mine. His expression was innocent and sweet, as usual, yet I knew that hiding behind that innocence was a burning loyalty and a courage that could reveal itself at any moment which called for its involvement. I could remember his thick laugh, bright eyes, and round cheeks smudged with dirt, from the day he had laughed at me and said, "I'm no dream, miss!" And I loved him because of his virtuousness and masked bravery. 

Merry Brandybuck didn't carry any air of gallantry about his small form at all. He probably would have said of himself that he was "just a hobbit, though more difficult than most of them," and I could easily agree. I had worried about him going into shock after his little incident at the lake, but he hadn't even been irked; such was the nature of hobbits. Every so often I had to physically restrain myself from pinching his extremely cute round nose or protruding ears, after he sometimes looked up at me and winked, or made a comment that had me laughing hours afterward. 

And then there was Frodo Baggins. Quiet, funny, charming, strong, all at the same time. He was still young, but I could look at him and see how quickly he reacted to an arguable statement, or how cleverly he delivered a joking remark, or how deep and probing his stares could become. He was strong in so many uncountable ways, and I had never known such a complex personality. He was already becoming the Bearer of the Ring that I had known and loved in the Trilogy. And his looks didn't hurt either.

At the far side of the room, Bilbo Baggins slept somewhat stiffly, his fingers kept in a loose grip around the breast pocket of his tunic. I mourned the hobbit and his silent downfall, and I cursed the Ring that couldn't release him even as he dreamed. Bilbo had been the closest thing to a father that I had in Middle-earth. He had taken me in without second thoughts, he had adopted me much like he once adopted an orphaned Frodo. Evil should not have been allowed to touch his caring heart.

And then I was fighting an uncontrollable, consuming hunger. The Ring was creeping into my mind, and its shimmering gold was shining in my eyes. I suddenly felt a tearing impulse to get up and steal the Ring, just for a moment, just to look at it and maybe try it on. It would be so easy; Bilbo was old, after all, and I could take the Ring from him easily if it were my wish. Slowly, I pushed myself to my elbows, simultaneously trying to deaden a burning desire to get up, to feel the cold Ring on my finger. The little Halfling didn't need it, so why should he be bearing the pain needlessly? "No!" I growled. "I can't, it's not right." Then, ashamed and unspeakably disappointed with myself, I tore my eyes away and flopped back down. "I won't," I said louder, and Bilbo turned over in his bed.

I had wondered often why Boromir had been so entranced with the Ring in _The Fellowship of the Ring_, or why Pippin had wanted to look in the _palantír_ so badly in _The Two Towers_, but a struggle with Evil is an agonizing task. Now I knew. "Never," I whispered into the calm morning, "never." I covered my face and stared at the wall. 

"That bed's not big enough for you there, Jo," I suddenly heard a drowsy Merry comment. "Your feet are hanging over the edge."

As he wobbled sluggishly past the end of my bed, I dared to smartly observe, "I know something else that's hung over."

"Hobbits do _not _get hangovers," Bilbo snorted into his blankets, overhearing me. "Silly girl," he added, turning away with a yawn and dropping his curly head against his pillow.

"They look a bit battered," Merry said, referring to my feet, and he gently touched the calloused (but clean) soles.

"Yes, I'm not used to walking around barefoot."

"Oh, then you wear those boots that Men do?"

"Well — boots, yes, I guess — shoes, usually."

"There are Men in Bree, East from here," Merry suggested. "Have Bilbo order some of those leather clunkers for you."

Sam grumbled from under his covers, annoyed, "It's too early, Mr. Frodo!"

"It's not early at all, Sam," said Frodo attentively, sitting up, his dark hair falling in ringlets across his brow. "Time for an early lunch, I would say."

"Please do say it is," Merry said.

I looked around and noticed that a hobbit was missing from our party. "Where did Pippin go?"

"He lives here, with his parents, in the Great Smials," Frodo replied. "He went home after dinner last night, and plans to meet us later this morning."

I wondered why we all couldn't have stayed with Pippin and saved a bit of money, but then I remembered that I wasn't a hobbit and would likely give all the Tooks heart attacks. Hobbits would never think of trusting someone of the race of Men, even if she looked like one of their own Hobbitish daughters.

Frodo, Merry, and I had to physically remove Bilbo and Sam from their beds, and after dressing quickly we all headed downstairs to sup. I received my regular glass of milk ("Yes, It is a Lady, but now It wants _milk_, too?" I heard the innkeeper say to one of his helpers) while the hobbits drank mead, and we feasted on a plate of honey nut cake, taters, and a slice of beef. While I ate, I sat listening to Merry and Sam argue about the best type of mushroom, where it was found, and how it was grown. I exchanged many sideways looks with Frodo, in which we conveyed amusement and a parent-like sense of shrewdness.

When I felt a pair of hands in my hair, already dividing my curls into a braid, I didn't even look to find out who it was. "Good morning, Pippin."

"I didn't expect to see you all up so early," the hobbit said, working my unruly tangles. "I thought I'd come here to find you all still in bed."

"I told them it was early," grumbled Samwise.

I walked out of the Cracked Boulder with my hair twisted into a herringbone braid, and I followed close on Bilbo's heels while Pippin led us through the pebbly streets of Tuckborough. He pointed out the great home of Gerontius Took, the Shire-thain and oldest hobbit in the Shire, and one of the most respected hobbits of the four Farthings. Houses and holes here were much like ones in Hobbiton, only they carried a look of age that surpassed the other towns. We walked into markets and passed shops, escorted to the edge of the town by our trusty Took-guide. Watching him, I sighed, loving Peregrin because I had always loved him in the books, but also because he was such a delightful, endearing character. He and Merry were quite the pair, and they could make a day's worth of trouble between them in an instant. Of course, Pippin's astute tongue could talk them both out of whatever mistake they happened to make.

I loved being able to look over and see Sam discreetly making his way about the street behind us, saying nothing, every once and a while pushing on his rolled-up sleeves, one watchful eye always on Frodo. He caught me staring at him and smiled. "A fine town, Tuckborough, don't you think, Miss Jo? I haven't seen a decent garden yet, though, not one is even a little like the Gaffer's." 

"I don't think there's a finer garden than yours to be found anywhere in the Shire, Sam," I replied, smiling back. 

We must have gone to every tavern and restaurant in Tuckborough that morning, hiring every cook working at every stop, and all for the Birthday Party. Bilbo was an excellent businessman. Everyone in the hobbit-town already knew about the Party, and so news that the Party-holders were in Tookland traveled quickly ahead of us. As usual, I received the most ogling looks, but Pippin in front and Sam beside me kept the more curious hobbits at bay. 

I turned quickly to Bilbo, intending to ask him a question about how Thains of the Shire were chosen, but I found only empty space at my side. The hobbit who did happen to be behind me paled under my gaze and shuffled away fearfully. "Where's Bilbo?" I exclaimed in a shocked voice. 

We stopped, and Frodo, mildly annoyed, threw his eyes to every corner of the intersection we stood at. "I just looked back and saw him a moment ago!" 

"Well," said Pippin, "this is where he wanted me to take you all, so I suppose he just ran off on his own. He knows Tuckborough well enough, I think. He wasn't mauled by his admirers, was he?" 

"What does he expect us to _do_ while we wait for him to turn up again?" Merry demanded, crossing his arms. 

Clueless, my group delayed their answers, looking about for any sign of our lost comrade, and I thought about leaving to go and search for him. Frodo was following my train of thought, it seemed, for he finally scuffled his feet and said lightly, "Oughtn't we look for him?" 

Again, there was no reply from anyone. I was extremely miffed, and I stood with shoulders hunched and a pressed fist to my cheek, clenching my jaw. Bilbo had used the Ring, obviously, and I hadn't even been aware of his magical disappearance. No telling where he had gone, or why. 

"We could head to the Smials," Pippin said, "he'll surely seek us out there first." 

So we started off for Pippin's home, our heads swiveling every which way in an effort to spot Bilbo or anything strange that Bilbo may be associated with, but we saw nothing. Frodo dropped back and kept pace with me, rolling his clear blue eyes skyward and grumbling, "Party Business." 

Our trail led around the edge of Tuckborough, next to the fences and homes at the beginning of the Great Smials, curving around hills and trees and small fields of corn or wheat. It was as if the city ended abruptly at the left of the rock-strewn path, and on our right the wilderness immediately began again. I got my first glimpse of the breathtaking Great Smials from under a canopy of sycamore trees; in a basin surrounded by forest and the remaining borders of Tuckborough, a palette of rolling hills stretched out, marked by short chimneys curling gray smoke and organized roads splaying to a hundred doors and yards. In the east, a smaller township was glowing, and this, I later learned, was Tookbank. 

Pippin waved to the serene portrait of hobbit ingeniousness proudly, "Welcome to Tookland!" 

Still aggravated and wanting to fully enjoy the beauty of the Smials, I stopped and looked back over my shoulder to see if Bilbo had maybe spied us and started to follow. The road was barren. I turned away to again pursue Frodo and the others with a frown still pulling on my lips. 

But to my great disbelief, I turned to run smack into Bilbo himself, who mysteriously and quite suddenly appeared right under me, giving a muffled "Oof!" at our collision. Rubbing my chin, I stepped back and gaped at him, as he simultaneously rubbed his nose and frowned up at me. "Where did you come from?" was the first thing that jumped from my mouth. 

"I beg your pardon?" he retorted crisply, smoothing the collar of his coat, one hand stuck in his breast pocket. His eyebrows were raised, and his expression was daring me to question him further. 

"I'm sorry, you just… turned up." 

His eyebrows jumped up a fraction more, as if to say, "Oh, really? You have no idea," and we both smiled at each other. 

"I'll have you know I came just from behind you," he answered aloud, pointing, "and you were always within calling distance." 

I wondered how he had ended up in _front _of me, but I just said, "Oh, we should have called for you then?" 

Bilbo chuckled, "It's a good thing you didn't bother… I wouldn't have answered anyhow." 

A gruff voice snorted at my elbow, all of a sudden, "No, we would have thrown him to you at your calling, to rid ourselves of the dirty little pest!" 

I shrieked and leaped away from a burly little man who appeared just as unexpectedly as Bilbo had only a moment ago. His grumpy face was covered in a scratchy black beard that had tickled my arm, and he was clothed in a dark red and brown patterned shirt, a sheathed dagger resting at his hip, and he was wearing a black hood and cape. His beady green gaze shot across to me, and it twinkled cheerfully. His voice was abrupt and hoarse, though, when he spoke to Bilbo and said, "You forgot." 

The disheveled and now irritable hobbit snuffed up at the surprise arrival, his words broken and tentative (he had clearly not predicted to see his strange friend there), "I forgot _what_, Borwin? At least I am not turning up at unannounced times when we were supposed to have met in secret!" 

"And this is coming from the Halfling that appeared out of thin air in the middle of our group!" snorted Borwin, speaking of Bilbo's magic invisibility, I knew. "You _are_ forgetful." 

Bilbo flushed pink, "Well, what is it? What did I forget?"

"Where do you want your delivery?" 

"I already asked you to leave it in Bag End!" 

"But where, my good Hobbit? If we were to leave it in a infrequently-visited room, you would surely never find it!" 

Bilbo's eyes shot nervously to me, and he finally shook his head and threw up his hands, "Oh goodness! Just leave it in the front hall; Jo here will surely keep her nose out of it." 

"And you know that we will be staying with you so we may see you safely to the East Mountains after your Party?"

"You make it seem like I am a helpless hobbit that cannot walk down a public road without protection. Yes, I know you will stay with me; I have already set aside rooms for you and your group." 

"You have our thanks, Bilbo and Jo," Borwin said, bowing his wiry head slightly to each of us, and he turned away without any more farewells. Dust swirled on the path, and the man vanished. 

Still standing in the middle of the road, I blinked, wondering if the encounter had even really happened, so quickly had the little man come and gone, but Bilbo cleared my doubts by shaking his head again. "That was Borwin, one of the sons of Dorwic — a Dwarf. That was a bit of Party Business, should you wish to know." 

My jaw hung slack. "A Dwarf?!" 

Bilbo nodded, "There are many clans in the region, remaining near the western Blue Mountains, they just never show themselves." 

Since Bilbo was hoping I would mind my own business, I wanted to live up to his trust and I didn't dare to press him about the "delivery" Borwin had asked about, and Bilbo said nothing more regarding it either, but curiosity was eating away at me by the time we caught up with the other hobbits down the road. As soon as we were seen coming toward them, Merry called out to the world like a harried father, his cheeks red from something between freshly extinguished worry and anger, "Poor Jo has been hanging around Bilbo so much that she is taking up his habits! Lawks! Two disappearances are too much for me in one day. We shall be driven out of our minds before she leaves us!" 

I felt terrible about worrying them; and then I thought, "At least they _had_ worried, and quite a bit, from the looks of Merry," and my sulkiness was replaced with warmhearted love. _They _had been worried about _me_! 

"Frodo, hold her hand and see to it that she doesn't slip away from you," ordered Pippin, as Merry whimpered pathetically, "Oh, come on, let's get to your hole and have some lunch, Peregrin!" 

Bilbo huffed loudly and said with dignity, "I'll have no one holding _my _hand, thank you!" and Frodo's eyes were dancing as he stepped up and held his hand out for me, which I took without a second thought, and I was forced to suppress giggles all the way down to Peregrin's hobbit-hole. 


	10. The Burglars

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own any of Tolkien's characters or the world he created. The only character of mine (Jorryn) has decided to take a holiday in Tolkien's Middle-earth. No copyright infringement on any of J. R. R. Tolkien's works is intended.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This chapter is for all the fans of Merry and Pippin. I **promise** you, I had it written before I ever saw the movie! I just heard a rumor that the duo was going to get into mischief in this way, and I found that something like that would be true to their characters. :) Please enjoy.

**To EVERYONE — **WOW. You guys are incredible. I cannot express to all of you how grateful I am that you have taken the time to read and review my little story. :) It is the greatest gift for an author to receive. I just hope that I can live up to all of the tremendous praise you have given me. Thank you so much.

**9**

When they first saw me duck into their hole, Paladin and Eglantine Took held expressions that were beyond surprise, and I'd immediately worried that I had walked into the wrong house. Though Pippin appeared promptly behind me, his two parents seemed to become only increasingly confused. Three hobbit-girls, Pippin's older sisters Pearl, Pimpernel, and Pervinca, had frozen at the sight of me, their small, pretty eyes opened wide with terror and disbelief. I was fortunate to have Frodo and the others at my side, or else the meeting would have been blanketed in uncomfortable and endless silence.

During my entire time in the Took home, Pippin's parents would never talk directly to me; it was always, "Ask the Lady if she wants a drink, Peregrin," or "Pearl, see if the Lady can sit in that chair," or "The Lady won't want two helpings of that porridge, Pimpernel," but worst of all was when Pippin had at last retorted loudly to one of these roundabout comments, "Mother, Father: she _does_ have more than half a brain, and furthermore, she's got a name — Jo."

I had found that the Tooks were incredibly hospitable and cheery people, once they opened up, and I thought later that Pervinca became somewhat attached to me. I was doing her hair before we left a few hours after arriving. I told her that her brother Pippin was the one to ask about hair, and the hobbit-boy had blushed. As the day reached the evening, we said goodbye to Peregrin, who was staying home, and thanked his family for lunch. Merry left us when we reached the East Road, a mile from Hobbiton, for he was heading back along it to Buckland. And Bilbo gave me a pair of boots the moment he could slip them to me in private.

"I heard you talking to Meriadoc this morning, so I got you these. They are of Dwarven make, and they will suit you nicely." He confided as I eagerly pulled them on, "They're better than any Mannish type of shoe, I believe. These will survive anything you put them through, Jo, and I know how you like to dash off to adventure…" he had smiled.

* * *

The next week or so was cloudy, and it seemed to me that the sky had decided to dress like Gandalf for a change. Covering the landscape in a damp blanket, rain fell intermittently between days, leaving Frodo, Bilbo, and me to burrow into the Hill with books and invitations and warm fireplaces. Party Business was everywhere now, in the form of acceptance letters from everyone Bilbo had invited to the Party. He had written on the invites, "Responses Requested," and the hobbits of the Shire met that request head-on. I was soon finding envelopes of every kind in impossible places, like in my bed or underneath a teacup or stuck between the pillows of the couch in the main sitting room. They were mostly one-liners: "Thank you very much, we will be present at your Party," and the like.

Since we were in such a dormant state, I was curious about things and I tried to figure how long I'd been in the Shire and what the date was at home by counting days. I had lost track long ago and I called on Frodo for help while we both sat reading in his favorite study. "It was the tenth day of Afterlithe," the hobbit remembered quickly, "when we found you. And today is — "

"What?" I interrupted blankly.

"Today is the seventh day of Wedmath," he repeated, realizing why I was so confused. "But that's in the Shire calendar — if you go by the common reckoning of Middle-earth, it would be about July…" He bit his lip as he struggled to convert the days. "… July twenty-seventh."

I shook my head, boggled. "Thanks anyway, Frodo." I still thought his count was off, and I had figured it should have been August at least. And I was close — after much figuring and lots of paper, I found that I had been in Middle-earth for about twenty-seven days, and that particular day would have been July 30. I announced to Frodo that I was "going by Jo-reckoning," and that's what we agreed to call it. He then explained to me that there were thirty even days in each Hobbit-month, which was why our figures differed.

"Do you miss it?" Frodo asked softly.

"What, my home? No, not really… not when I look up and see you." I flipped through my book distractedly (it was a new, meandering work about the history of the Elves of Middle-earth), and it was a few seconds before I realized that what I had just said came out in a way I didn't mean for it to… _Not when I look up and see you_. Frodo was blushing radiantly, his head ducked under his spray of curls. "Sorry," I murmured quickly and awkwardly. The apology was all I could muster.

"That's all right," he coughed.

That night, I couldn't sleep. I was restless. My frank comment to Frodo had stuck with me all day, so that whenever we looked at each other, we both went red. Though I probably looked like a cherry-colored, grinning idiot, Frodo continued to hold his adorable boyish looks, even when embarrassed. I wondered then, lying in my bed too hyperactive to sleep, if what I had said to the hobbit had really been an accident. I grinned evilly in the dark.

Pushing my blankets back, I snatched my Dwarf-boots from a hook on the wall and decided to take a walk. Under most circumstances I would've been scared to wander in a strange countryside at night, but I was in the _Shire_, and I doubted that anything would harm me in such a place.

Bag End seemed open to me in the night, and I ventured past Frodo's and Bilbo's rooms as quiet as a hobbit. The _smial's_ front door was exactly how it had been described in _The Hobbit_; round, painted a deep green, with a doorknob positioned curiously in the center. I ducked under the frame and shut the door silently behind me, standing up to breathe the cool night air as I walked down the steps leading to the narrow dirt road. Robert Frost's poem, "Riding through Woods on a Snowy Evening," came to mind, and even though I had understood after reading it before, I could relate to the words even more now, when I was alone in a secret place and content just to stand and listen.

The sky wasn't completely dark, but rather a shady sort of blue, and there was a faint breeze in the air. I didn't pull my boots on, but walked on the grass that was tickling and cool under my feet. I was comfortable and safe; however, I didn't know my way around, and I was wishing I had brought a lamp or a candle. I nearly jumped out of my skin when I first saw a cow nonchalantly chewing on Bag End's grass roof. The front lawn of the Bagginses' home, past a short wooden fence and the road leading to Hobbiton, was wide and lush and was the resting spot for several more cows. On the Hill sloping up above Bag End, chimneys peeked up from between trees. Far away, looming like great black guards, were the Mountains.

The drizzly weather of the last week had lifted, _Just for me_, I liked to think, and I could see the stars so clearly that I almost could reach up and snatch them out of the velvetiness. Some were unfamiliar constellations, further impressing on me how far away I was from home. Drinking in the beauty of the sky, I sat in the grass I leaned my head back until my neck cracked, and finally spotted a pattern of blinking stars I recognized.

"You look like Orion!" I called softly to a line of scattered, faraway dots. "I didn't expect to see you here!"

"We didn't either," I heard a distinctly lilting voice say, amusement hinting in the words. "What do you mean to gain by snooping around at odd hours, Jo?"

Merry and Pippin were standing in the shadows of the trees, empty gunnysacks slung over their shoulders. They stepped into the moonlight and came to look down at me.

"I could ask you two the same thing, little hobbits," I smiled, pushing myself up to my elbows.

Pippin tilted sideways to match my view and looked up. "Who were you talking to?"

I pointed at the uneven stars, which were arranged in a way that gave the ancient warrior a belt and an hourglass-shaped body. "Orion! He was always my favorite constellation."

"Orion?" echoed Pippin doubtfully, plopping down next to me. "Our name for him is Menelvagor, the 'Swordsman of the Sky.' "

Merry dropped into the grass. "He was the guardian of our world, in the Old Times."

"Of course you would have different and more difficult names for him," I said, fascinated. I waved at a constellation just coming up from the edge of the horizon. "What about the Big Dipper? Those seven stars?"

"The name for it is the Wain," Pippin replied, quirking his head to the side. "How funny; I have just now realized that it looks like a dipper. We always thought it was a wagon."

"People like to make things simple, where I come from," I sighed, smiling faintly at my memories of lost nights at home, nights that were much like the present one, spent wondering with friends about the secrets of the universe. "How do you know so much about all of these stars?"

"Frodo is the one who told me, and he learned it from Bilbo, who probably learned it from Gandalf. Gandalf could tell you much more than I can."

I played distractedly with my hair, admiring the planets, moons, and suns of distant galaxies. After a minute, I looked to the hobbits, and said, "Well, you know what I was doing, now. What are you up to?"

Merry acted as if our midnight meeting was a normally planned happening, and he proceeded to explain, his unfilled rucksack over a knee. "Pippin stayed at Brandybuck Hall yesterday, with me. We got bored after a bit and headed to the Green Dragon Inn over in Hobbiton; but pipe-weed and ale can get monotonous too, you know."

"So we decided to come over to the merry old Hill for a bit of fun," Pippin said with a huge grin. When he was elbowed by Merry for exposing too much, he grumbled, "It wasn't _my_ idea, _Master_ Meriadoc!"

I eyed the pair and their sacks. "Do you want me to go back to bed?"

"No," they said together, "you're quite all right."

"To be honest," admitted Merry haltingly, "we're — well, to be honest — we are heading to Odo Whitfoot's vegetable patches."

I clapped a hand over my mouth to cover a laugh. "You're stealing vegetables!"

"We are not _stealing_!" corrected Pippin. "It's merely Whitfoot's tribute to the great Took and Brandybuck families."

"Is that it?" I giggled. "That's why you need to collect your tributes in the middle of the night, slinking along like burglars."

"Exactly!" they said. "Would you like to come?"

Hence, by some twisted coincidence, I found myself tiptoeing behind a couple of young hobbit thieves, until we came in a few minutes to a thick patch of carrot, tomato, cucumber, turnip, potato, pumpkin, and squash plants winding up creepers. The moon glared down on us as though it was an all-seeing eye that knew what mischievous deeds we were up to.

"Not as good as Farmer Maggot's," Merry declared, inspecting a cabbage, "but good enough." And with that, the hobbits began to uproot carrots and pick the smaller veggies off vines, stuffing them gently into their soon bulging sacks. I kept watch from the cover of a large tomato plant, seeing only an owl and a few fireflies, and another cow, but no one found us trespassing on Whitfoot's garden.

"Hmm," murmured Pippin, dusting a potato. He found a lump in it and threw it over his shoulder, dissatisfied. "Who do you plan to dance with at the Party, then, Jo?"

"Me?" I frowned at the sudden question. "No one will ask _me_ to dance!" I knew this from previous encounters at parties and having to pair up with the nastiest, most unpopular men because no one else would ever bother to ask me.

"I will," said Merry immediately.

"And I will, also," grinned Pippin, brushing hair out of his vibrant emerald gaze.

"I'm too tall for you," I pointed out. "And I don't know any of your dances."

My friends waved this away. "You outgrow us by a mere hairsbreadth, dear Jo," Merry corrected. "You will look so Hobbitish by the time of the Party that no one will notice that you are a Lady — that is, unless you want them to."

"Don't go acting like a Man on us," Pippin warned.

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"The dances are easy enough, and you are sharp enough to learn them quickly, so it isn't a problem." Merry grinned. "You aren't trying to get out of going, are you?"

"Of course not," I retorted, "I just don't want to make a fool of myself."

Merry burst into laughter. "You, Jo? It is impossible for you to look a fool, dear Lady, as long as Pippin is there to act as the goose of the Party."

Merry and Pippin dragged the lumpy sacks and me away and back into the trees near Bag End, where they plunked down and emptied the bags to separate their bounty. When they tried to shove a pile to me, I shook my head. "I can't. Bilbo would want to know where I got them."

The pair shared an increasingly playful, wicked look. "Tell Sam you took it from the Gaffer's garden," suggested Merry with a snicker.

"You nasty little hobbit," I smirked, pursing my lips resolvedly and thrusting the vegetables back to them, "he'd be crushed. I couldn't play such a mean joke on Sam."

"You're too sweet, Jo!" Pippin reprimanded gently.

By the time I stumbled back into bed, thankfully not waking Frodo or Bilbo, I was too tired to notice that the hobbit robbers had sneaked a small cabbage and a carrot into my boots, which I had never put on during my time with them.


	11. Learning

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own any of Tolkien's characters or the world he created. The only character of mine (Jorryn) has decided to take a holiday in Tolkien's Middle-earth. No copyright infringement on any of J. R. R. Tolkien's works is intended. 

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** **ArwenAria18**, I hope this chapter will satisfy you. ;) This is for everyone who has asked for it! Let me know what you think by e-mailing me (hobbyjobby@hotmail.com) or by submitting a review! Thanks to **Katrine Lila Loamsdown-Fitzgerald** for the suggesting the snippet of a song Jo sings in this chapter. :) 

**ANNOUNCEMENT, 13 January 2002:** Whoever posted the review that said, "Haven't read it... yet... but I thought you may want to know that **your fanfic was featured in the National Post** (Newspaper in Canada)! Congratulations!" on January 13, **thank you so much** for alerting me! I was able to locate the article at the National Post website and paste the address to view. 

WOW! I am thrilled! Thank you so much! 

**

10

**

When the weather cleared up a bit, and autumn was moving into the Shire, Frodo took to reading outside. I wasn't sure if my invitation to read with him was still valid when he disappeared to seek some obvious seclusion. Bilbo was frantic with the Party drawing so near, and I couldn't help with anything except when occasionally a group of adventurous hobbit-boys would sneak onto Bagshot Row and into the Bagginses' _smial_, looking for the Bagginses' renowned treasure. They were easily frightened off by a hideous and menacing monster named Jo.

On some evenings Bilbo managed to free himself from his work, Frodo could come out of hiding, and we three would sit on the porch before the round green door of Bag End in the twilight to watch Bilbo blow smoke-rings. I would laugh out loud and turn my face into the breeze, simply because they were hobbits and I was with them. At my spontaneous and fanatical laughter, Bilbo would knock me lightly over the head with the end of his wooden pipe, chuckling, "Silly girl."

I had started to keep a journal. I wanted to remember as much as possible from my adventures here (yes — peaceful, unending days in the subdued Shire were considered adventures to me) and I eventually picked up on the hobbits' talent for remembering details. I would write things like "Sam looks the cutest when he is angry or confused," and "Pippin seems to think that every time we meet, he has to engage in a contest with me in which he stares at me for an hour until I break into giggles," and "Frodo's favorite book is the one Bilbo is writing, _There and Back Again_; I would love to read the first version of the tale I called _The Hobbit_," and "Merry tried to teach me how to smoke the other day, but I really can't stand the thought of breathing in that stuff." I scribbled smiley faces and doodles along the sides of my entries, sometimes able to convey more emotion in a simple squiggle than I could in words.

It was quite a while before I discovered Frodo's hiding place. As I wandered the grounds above Bag End one day, humming snippets of songs that happened to flit into my mind, avoiding the grazing cows and groups of children playing in the woods, I sat at the foot of a tree. Hobbit children really were the cutest things imaginable, to my mind. I caught many glimpses of them darting through the trees, their short legs carrying them far and fast, their large tipped ears seeming to outgrow their heads. I laughed quietly at their clumsy games, unaware of the occupied branch over my head where another watched me.

With the approaching fall season, more storms like the ones of past days were following. The distant mountain peaks were hidden in a curtain of low mist and rain. The air held a chill, one that was crisp but still pleasant.

Relaxing, I closed my eyes, leaning back against the tree that folded great roots about me like cradling arms. Words of a song I had memorized, long before my strange passage to this time, came to my mind, and I sang softly. "_Sitting in an English garden, waiting for the sun… If the sun don't come, you get a tan from standing in the English rain…_" The lyrics faded on my lips, and I smirked, wondering if any walruses even lived in Middle-earth. The words about rain were most likely stirred up from my memory by the murky thunderheads resting far away on the Mountains. 

I sighed heavily and plopped my arms onto my knees, wishing that this adventure would last forever, when suddenly I heard a choked sneeze come from above. I twisted around — and there was Frodo Baggins, one belated hand covering his mouth, his legs straddling a large bough of his tree. "Bless you," I said in surprise. "How long have you been spying on me?" 

The hobbit sniffed and itched his little nose. "I was here first," he pointed out, waving his reading-book as evidence, "but you looked so peaceful that I hated to disturb you. You seem to have people bursting in on you all the time." 

It was true. "That was very kind of you, Mr. Baggins." I pushed myself out of the tree roots and leaned back to look up at him. "Shall I come up, or are you coming down? Or would you rather be alone?" 

"You can come up," he said, and as I struggled up the tree he made room for me on his branch. He offered me a small smile, and for the first time ever I noticed a very narrow gap between his two front teeth. The extremely small (but still charming) imperfection made me think of how real a person he was — this was the _actual _Frodo Baggins. The sight of him still excited my every nerve and sped up the flow of tingling blood in my veins. 

"I haven't seen much of you recently." Frodo flipped through his book and opened it back to his place, spreading it onto his chest, propping the backbone of it on his drawn-up legs. 

"_You _haven't seen much of _me_?" I repeated, laughing. "Shouldn't it be the other way around? Bilbo and I would like to see more of _you_." I loved the simple fact that I could say _Bilbo and I_ and not sound crazy. 

Frodo only shrugged, looking down to his reading, "I'm only a hindrance amid all his work." 

I persisted, not thinking anything of it, "But don't you want to spend more time with him before the Party? I mean, he is your uncle, and he's leaving after — " Although I caught myself far too late, I clamped my jaw down on my tongue anyway. "I mean, uh — you and he — " 

Frodo frowned up at my reddening face and betraying expression, "You know about…?" 

"I'm sorry," I tried to quickly cover, "I won't tell anyone. I shouldn't know, I realize that." 

"No," said Frodo comfortingly, his frown fading, "you've been in Bag End long enough; it's difficult to not notice all the ambiguous comments Bilbo makes about his Party Joke." 

He went back to the thin pages flapping in his book, concentrating intently. He was immediately caught up in his reading, so much that he didn't even notice that I continued to watch him, unable to wrench my gaze away. I kept thinking that I shouldn't stare, and that any minute Frodo would glance up and catch the look on my face, but I couldn't help it. 

He had smooth cheeks kissed gently with sun, and long black eyelashes that formed small, feathery shadows when his eyes were downturned. But whenever he happened to be looking up, at me, his irises were the clearest shade of blue surrounded by a darker ring of color — probing, pure, and mesmerizing. His hair (as usual, tousled and wavy) curled around pointed ears and a defined jawbone. The loose white tunic and patterned blue vest he wore covered the suspenders that held up his breeches. Soft, graceful hands turned the pages of his book. I knew what it was like to hold one of those hands, but the touch I remembered so well had not told me anything of the hobbit's emotions. Which were probably nonexistent anyway. 

His hobbitish feet were right next to my fingers, tapping to some rhythm in Frodo's head. I nearly giggled aloud. They were unbelievably soiled and hairy, yet in their own way they managed to still be adorable. Frodo finally lifted his attention to me, and thankfully my eyes were not on his face but on his toes. I could tell he was smirking amusedly at the obvious interest I had in his feet. 

"You — " he started to say, and I met his gaze expectantly, my heart suddenly, reflexively, jumping to my throat. We were locked together in a long silent moment, both wondering what the other was thinking. Anyone could have guessed what was running through my head. "… I wonder how Merry is doing," he coughed at last, turning his head away, giving me a view of his defined profile. "He told me he had a bit of a cold." 

I felt I could have burst into tears right then and there. What a cruel thing to do; he was looking at me _like that_ and then he went on worrying about Merry! "Oh, does he?" I strangled out, ready to kick him. I was in a good position to do so. 

"I — " the hobbit began again, but then thought better of it, _again_. "I still think of how you rescued the troublesome Brandybuck," he revised, grinning at me shakily. Why was he making the conversation so difficult? 

"It was no problem," I replied, the words revealing my growing frustration. 

Frodo drew a hasty breath, as if he was readying himself for a sinister blow. "I sometimes think," he said quickly, "that hobbits would be throwing themselves off bridges daily if it would mean getting rescued by a Lady like you." 

He had finally spit it out. I sat in the tree with Frodo Baggins, completely flabbergasted and dumbstruck. Hobbit children's lighthearted laughter, now farther off, danced innocently through the forest, carried by the leaf-scented wind. Frodo was trying ineptly to light a pipe he pulled from a pocket, and while he tried he became ten times cuter than before. Here he was, the fearless Ring-bearer-to-be, reduced to a self-conscious, fumbling, underage hobbit in the wake of an attempted romantic comment. My hands twitched in an effort to reach out to the hobbit and hug him; I wisely held them clasped in my lap lest I do more than just hugging. 

"Frodo Baggins!" I finally burst, covering one side of my beaming, beet-red face. The hobbit started and dropped his pipe to the roots and shrubs below. I could only smile and blush until my cheeks were sore and burning, and my bottom lip was suffering under the bite of my upper teeth. Finally, I looked down and patted his toes, ignorant of their grubbiness, unable to meet his eye, and whispered, "Thank you." Inwardly, I added, _Thank you so much, you adorable, sweet little hobbit_. The unspoken comment seemed to hang tellingly in the air between us, and Frodo smiled. 


	12. Hide and Go Seek

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own any of Tolkien's characters or the world he created. The only character of mine (Jorryn) has decided to take a holiday in Tolkien's Middle-earth. No copyright infringement on any of J. R. R. Tolkien's works is intended. 

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Here's something I forgot to mention in the last chapter (sorry, Audra!): **What Jo looks like**. Audra asked this question quite a while ago, and I answered her by saying that I left out Jo's description intentionally, so that everyone could relate even more to her. I imagine her to be normal — plain, even. And she's short. I could include Jo's description in the story if everyone really wanted it. 

**ArwenAria18 — Time differences **are something I've been worried about. I want to stay as close to the books as possible, but I would hate to have Jo be thirty years old by the end of the story. I really don't know what I'm going to do. Anyone have any suggestions?** And how far do I plan to take this story?** I really have no idea. :) What an organized writer I am! I know we will get to go past the Party, and from there we will just have to see what comes. 

**

11

**

Frodo and Bilbo Baggins were strange characters. They could disappear for days at a time and then strangely reappear, in a very Gandalf-like way. When Frodo was at Bag End he tried to help me learn some Elvish, but his teachings were hopeless — Elvish was just too graceful a language for my humble lips. The only words I could manage were "mellon," or friend in the Common Speech, and "perian," or hobbit.

Frodo and I occasionally took walks with Sam above Hobbiton on the Road, sometimes straying to the flowing Water in the forest. It was on one of these hikes that we happened to cross the place where I had been found, in an unbearably lonely, dark place hidden in the heart of the wood with the forest's lifeline, the Water, bubbling across our path. The place was very quiet, and the air was thick.

"It's a wonder anyone ever found you, Miss Jo," remarked Sam, leaning on a crooked walking stick. "Thank the heavens that Mr. Frodo left his pack here, by chance."

Frodo had a far-off look on his face. "It was so strange, what happened…" He turned to me, the memory broiling in his deep eyes. "One moment I was standing here alone, in the calmest scene you could wish for, but then the wind…" He shivered, "I'll not forget that soon."

"And the look on Mr. Bilbo's face, when Gandalf burst in on his breakfast crying that a Lady had been found on the Hill!" Sam laughed. "I was working in the garden that morning, when up runs the wizard, gray hair flying. _Samwise_, he says to me, _for once, put down your shears and be of some real use! Go to the Road, Frodo will need your help!_ And I'm proud to say that I did manage to help out a bit, if you don't mind me saying so."

I shared a grin with Frodo. "The storm that brought you will never leave my memory," he said again to me, tipping his head sideways in a boyish manner, "but the Lady that was brought here by it will be even harder to forget."

Sam's cheeks colored bashfully with a glance at his master, then me. "Aye, I think I may agree with you there, Mr. Frodo." I extended my hands to both of them and brushed them lightly across their shoulders to show them my appreciation.

We all fell silent, listening to the water, feeling the life of the Wood reverberate in the sweet air around us. I put my feet into the cold stream, breathing deeply, smiling to myself and loving my companions for all their kind words. And questions that always sat in the back of my mind came to the surface of my thoughts… why had such a plain girl like me been stolen from the modern world to live in the age of Hobbits and Elves? And of all the places and times _they_ (as I called the unknown forces that had brought me here) could have put me, I had ended up in the Shire, with Frodo Baggins. I was very grateful, but still very confused.

Frodo suddenly looked up, his eyes snapping to a thick, tangled bush winding around the trunk of a tree. I turned, alarmed, just before Frodo started to say, "Sam — !" A moment later, Sam was sprawled on the ground, dirt smudged on his astonished face, and an exultant Pippin Took was dancing around him. Poor Samwise, much ruffled, took Pip's outstretched hand and pulled himself up. He had been attacked by the sneaky little Took.

Merry appeared behind the bush from which Pippin had sprung. "I told him not to."

"Peregrin Took," Frodo said firmly, one restraining hand on his angry servant's shoulder, "you are still as sneaky as — and more of a nuisance than — "

Meanwhile, Sam was wielding his walking stick as if it were a fighting staff, mumbling incoherent threats. Pippin saw his plight and the anger of his two friends, and he darted behind me timidly. "Cousins!" he cried. "You know nothing is meant by it! It's only a game, after all."

"Games are not meant to be played in such a place," scolded Frodo. He did not explain why he was so swift to reprimand his younger relative, but he glanced quickly at me.

The silence of before came again, deeper and darker. Every sound in the Wood seemed magnified a hundred times, echoing in our eerily empty heads. Sam gave a shudder. "Begging your pardon, Mr. Frodo, but I should like to get back to the Hill before teatime. And," he looked crossly at Pippin, "I need to get cleaned up."

Merry stood from behind the bush, unperturbed. "Then let us go to the outside, where the sun shines brighter than ever! She wouldn't mind if we played a few games under her."

Everyone agreed that a game was a good idea, and we headed out. Something heavy lifted from our minds as we stepped into a wide gold meadow, led by Merry. The clearing was surrounded by a wall of trees and lighted by the clear, young, afternoon sun. "Who will be the first seeker?" Pippin asked, sliding effortlessly through the tall grasses.

"I volunteer Frodo," Merry said, grinning cheekily and slapping Frodo heavily on the back. "He's the oldest and must chase after us, the younger ones."

The Baggins pursed his lips. "The eldest should be allowed to judge who does what and how, and he should have a final say over all of you," he said, yet he obediently crouched down in the grass, covered his eyes, and began to sing quietly to himself.

_When all chores are done _

_ And high swings the Sun, _

_ To meadow we flee _

_ Shouting with glee, _

_ "Hide, my friend Hobbit! _

_ Hurry through thicket! _

_ O'er bramble, 'neath oak _

_ 'Til I catch you, slowpoke!"_

It was a very short song, and during its brief delaying moments, Pippin and Merry seized me and darted into the trees. Sam followed a short distance behind, huffing and muttering to himself about how the gardens at home needed tending. I realized that we were playing hide-and-go-seek, or something very like it, and I quickened my pace to keep up with the hobbits as they danced through the woods. Their speed and nimbleness surprised me.

We halted abruptly in a ring of fern and moss, panting gently, Sam bumbling up at our heels. "You know how to play this, don't you?" Pippin said between breaths.

"Yes," I puffed, but as soon as I said it, Merry, Pippin, and Sam were hastening off to hiding places of their own. "Wait!" I cried, "What about rules?"

I caught Merry's voice, faint between the trees, "Tackle him before tackles you!"

Standing alone, damp undergrowth between my toes, I looked around the dark hollow. I almost yelled after the other hobbits, "Don't leave me here," but that would've given my position away to Frodo, who was in pursuit by now, I knew. Smells of moist, rich soil and fresh foliage wafted from the ground, and the sound of water tumbling over stones came from a distance. Creeping, I huddled under the drooping fronds of a large plant some distance from the edge of the clearing, and there I waited for a sign of Frodo.

* * *

I sat up very suddenly. Had I fallen asleep? Mud covered my cheek and arm, and dew was dripping from my hair. It was terribly gloomy in the dell where I had been hiding, and a dark that was chillingly like night was settling around me. Questions jumbled in my mind — how long had I been here? Why hadn't Frodo found me? How was I to get back to Bag End?

Joints cracking, I pushed myself to my feet. I was lost.

"Frodo!" I shouted into the murk. "Pippin, Sam! Merry!" I looked up to the spindly branches of the trees, moonlight cutting through them in places and lighting the ground with silver patches. A bird cackled loudly and rustled the underbrush. "Frodo," I whispered desperately.

Miserable, I sank back into the dirt and moss. My fingers were numb with cold, and my stomach was rumbling hungrily. I couldn't remember the last time I'd eaten. "What a pickle I'm in," I muttered, saying exactly what Sam would've said if he had been there.

I decided after many shivering seconds that I couldn't be more than a few miles from the Hill, and the time could not be later than midnight. I would have easily admitted to anyone that I was not a nature person — I had no skills whatsoever in the matters of outdoor survival, or of finding direction by stars or sun. My lack of outdoor expertise and the uncertainty clouding my thoughts was not encouraging, and the reality of my situation pressed down forcefully on me in that dark, soggy hollow: I was seriously, hopelessly, completely lost.

"Blast this whole wretched place," I growled to the nearest lichen-covered tree trunk. "It looks like I'll have to be rescued from it again." I drew myself up into a ball and tried to sleep away the hours that I would have to wait for a rescuer.

Yet, something in that place would not let me sit still. Every tree loomed over me as though it would have liked to pounce, and the very ground seemed to reek with contempt. I found myself arguing with the screeching nightlife of the wood. Even if I couldn't hear anything, I knew that the forest hated me. "I would gladly go," I snorted to the emptiness, "if I had somewhere _to_ go." It was the strangest feeling to have an entire forest against me, and knowing this made me doubt my sanity.

"_Fine_ then!" I surrendered at last, jumping up and shaking a fist dejectedly at my surroundings. Stupidly, I waited for some sort of reply and stood in the middle of the tree-circle, breathing heavily, fuming, because I hadn't done anything to the forest to make it hate me. A cricket chirped, and leaves crackled. 

I stayed stubbornly, daring the place to do something about my intrusive presence… but then my resolve broke. I took off running in a direction I guessed was close to the way I had come, hours ago with three other hobbits.

Around me, the trees began to grow closer together and more densely, and my path became ever more narrow. I thought I heard a high-pitched cry that sounded jarringly like a wolf's howl, lifted above the treetops to reach the moon, whose face was broken by the countless skeletal branches overhead. Darkness drove in on all sides, forcing me on and on, getting me more and more lost. 

Finally I cast myself down to the forest floor, wondering ferociously how such a seemingly perfect day had gone so very wrong. My tears wetted the soil and streaked my grimy cheeks. Crying was the only thing I had left. I was completely void of emotion and thought, for my helplessness drained me. I had nothing — nowhere to go, nothing to do, no way home. 

Sometime after my hope died, as soon as all my tears were spent, I fell asleep and slipped into a cold, dreamless dark.


	13. Getting Rescued

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own any of Tolkien's characters or the world he created. The only character of mine (Jorryn) has decided to take a holiday in Tolkien's Middle-earth. No copyright infringement on any of J. R. R. Tolkien's works is intended. The two songs in this chapter are mine, also.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Okay… I'm really _really _sorry for the long wait, everybody. I don't think it's ever taken me this long to update anything. Sheepishness abounds, if it makes any of you feel better… :) Well, anyhow, here is Chapter 12. I hope everyone enjoys it, especially you, **Icefire Queen**. :)

**THANK YOU **to everyone for your support, your patience while it took me an eternity to update, and all of your sweet reviews/E-mails. You are all **AMAZING**.

**12**

_O randir naer _

_Ned talath and fael _

_Gostaú i môr! _

_Malthen aur _

_Nûr morn daw _

_Lû, heb thurin i amarth _

_Ned i mistad iell._

* * *

I awoke to gentle golden light and a canopy of soft, rustling leaves directly above my head. The words of an indecipherable song played on the fringes of my memory, teasing, and I frowned at the echoing melody. I could not remember why a feeling of mixed confusion, panic, and fear lingered at the back of my mind. But then the breeze whispered over me and foreign words touched my ears, and the terrible night I had spent lost in the forest suddenly rushed back to me. 

Slowly, I sat up and slipped from under the thin, silky blankets covering the bed on which I slept. The world seemed much cheerier than the gloomy darkness I last remembered; tall, graceful trees swayed in the fresh morning breeze, the Mountains that often scowled down on everything did not look so bleak and wild today, and Middle-earth's sun lightly kissed the emerald landscape. My frown remained as I looked down to the silvery-gray gown I wore, tied with a light blue band, flowing down my short figure like a graceful waterfall. "What on earth…?" I muttered, pushing a hand through my untidy ringlets.

"_Maer aur_, little friend."

I jumped around to find a slender woman standing at my bedside, her straight auburn hair moving like a fine curtain in the gentle wind, brushing against her creamy, flawless cheeks. The way she stood suggested ease and casualness, but there was an elegance about her that I could not define. I wondered about the words she had greeted me with — _mare hour_, or something_ — _and thought fleetingly of the hopeless Elvish lessons Frodo had attempted with me. If she was speaking Elvish, I couldn't understand any of it, so I simply stared at the woman for longer than I meant to, until a small smile pulled at her full mouth. "You slept long, Jo, longer than we thought you would," she remarked in a very thick, fluid voice. "Your friends have been worried."

Forgetting everything else but my hobbits, I took a quick step toward the girl and exclaimed hopefully, "Frodo? And the others — are they all right?"

The teasing smile widened, and she tipped her head forward comfortingly, "They are fine; they will be happy to hear that you feel the same."

And then I noticed that she had pointy ears, ones very much like the hobbits', except hers protruded from under a circlet of twisted gold and silver, and not out of a mess of curls. So I knew for sure, then… I was talking to an Elf. Stunned, I looked at her, mesmerized and wide-eyed.

I suddenly felt very small, insignificant, and disheveled in the presence of such a beautiful person, and to tell the truth, she actually was a good many centimeters taller than I and clearly more attractive. Her limbs were lithe and willowy under the loose, burgundy colored robe she wore, and a brilliant light shone in her crystal-blue eyes. She extended a long-fingered hand toward me, her bare feet making no noise in the soil. "Come, _sell_, and I will take you to see your friend."

Being among Elves was like living in a separate world, a world apart from the troubled times that were soon going to overtake the rest of Middle-earth. But the Elves were not ignorant of the approaching darkness; I could sense the quiet sadness buried deep within their piercing gazes and soft, somber words. It pained me to see such a remarkable race aching so much for the world that they loved, the world that had first been theirs but was slipping from their grasp. I was overwhelmed by their magnificence.

Many of them smiled and gave little bows as I passed with my Elven guide, and I could do nothing but blush and nod my head back at them. Feeling ungainly, I attempted to smooth my hair and rub some color into my cheeks, but any attempt of mine to look pretty in the middle of a group of Elves was useless, and I knew it. I gave up and concentrated only on keeping up with the long strides of the girl leading me.

I suddenly heard my name called by a high, sweet, familiar voice, and I turned to see Frodo jostling through the mass of mildly amused Elves to reach me. Suppressing a squeal of joy, unable to control myself, I darted toward him and leaped into his outstretched arms. The hobbit laughed and gave me a cautious squeeze, then pulled away with a broad grin lighting his adorable face.

"Jo," he beamed, sobering slightly, "please forgive us."

"Oh, I don't blame you at all!" I exclaimed, wanting to hug him again because he was simply the sweetest hobbit alive. "You didn't lose me on purpose, of course."

Reddening, he looked down to his toes, and I heard him murmur, "Yes, but… losing you for only two days still seemed like an eternity to me." He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his breeches, his sapphire gaze glittering from under the dark, wavy locks covering his forehead.

Once again I was at a loss for words; the hobbit was so unbearably charming that I almost felt I would burst because of all the blissful bubbles rising in my heart. Had I not been surrounded by dozens of observing Elves, I probably would have done something irrational (such as kissing the lovely hobbit) but fortunately I was saved. We beamed at each other, both of us turning a cherry-red.

"So," I began, trying unproductively to control the burning heat in my face, "where are the others? Are they all right?"

"They are all fine, you shouldn't worry about them," Frodo consoled, scratching at one pointed ear. "I… I sent them home. Sam about fainted when he realized we couldn't find you, and he wailed for hours, while we searched, about how he had known something dreadful was going to happen. Merry and Pip didn't say much — except Merry felt terrible about making you play that silly game."

"It wasn't any fault of his, or anyone else's," I reminded, feeling guilty about being such a nuisance once again. "I'm just a brainless city-girl, and I got lost because of my own dim-wittedness. They know I'm all right, don't they?"

"Yes, I sent a messenger back to Bag End to let everyone know you had been found. It was a hard job, getting the others to go back, and it would have been harder if they'd known we would meet Elves," he joked. "But Sam would've been forced to enjoy Elven company while we still knew you were lost somewhere…"

Giggling, I glanced around self-consciously and pulled at the sleeve of my peculiar dress. "How did you… who found me?"

"It was very lucky, Jo," he confessed, "like the first time I found you — an accident on both sides. An Elf on watch round the edge of this camp came across you yesterday morning. It's a wild country on the Western Moors, and you came up just short of it."

"I just ran, that's all… the Forest didn't like me. But I had no idea that Elves lived so close to the Shire," I whispered softly to Frodo, not wanting them to think I meant the comment as an insult.

Frodo caught the change in my tone and took my hand with a gentle smile, leading me away from the center of the group and into a more private part of the wood. "They don't," he explained along the way, "not usually, at any rate. Somehow, Jo, you managed to get from Bag End's Wood to the hills right before Little Delving and the boundary of the Westfarthing. These Elves are making the journey to the Havens."

"Oh!" I gasped sorrowfully, for I knew that Elves that made the voyage across the Sea rarely came back. That meant that the Elves that had rescued and cared for me would never be seen again in Middle-earth. Finding out about their leaving was like knowing something irreplaceable was going to die soon, but not being able to do anything about it.

"Yes, well…" Frodo sighed heavily and pressed his lips together, looking deep into the forest between the trees and bushes, his gaze seeming to search for the Sea itself. I could almost hear the murmur of waves brushing against a sandy shore if I listened very hard for the whisper coming under the rustling of leaves. Looking to my hobbit, I saw him reflecting in calm wonder, not a trace of doubt or fear in his youthful face. "They've asked us to the feast they are having this evening," he said without turning toward me, his stare remote. "Would you like to stay?"

"Yes," I decided without difficulty or second thought, "yes, I think I would."

* * *

I was extremely unprepared for a dinner with Elves. My hair refused to cooperate with my yanking fingers, and I felt much too ruffled to do anything even somewhat dignified. A number of Elves floated in and out of my little space, smiling down faintly, asking if they could help, and doing what they could. One managed to coax my hair into a few braids, and persuaded me to tie a tiny blue flower into the back. The resulting effect was quite nice, and made me feel very Elvish, like I truly belonged in Middle-earth. 

The gathering was held in a little grove encircled by large, moss-covered boulders resting in deep, soft grass and bright blossoms. Frodo was sitting comfortably under a large tree, looking inconspicuous and undersized, but not daunted by his surroundings as he sipped from a goblet. I crossed the open distance quickly, self-consciously watching the movements of my toes, and then slipped in next to Frodo. After a moment, the hobbit took a quick look in my direction, coughed, and sputtered into his drink.

"I thought you were an Elf!" he explained in astonishment, beverage dribbled on his chin.

Deeply pleased, I only blushed, delighted to have been mistaken for an Elf. "I don't have the ears," I said humbly.

"Oh, yes," recalled Frodo, touching his own and examining my ordinary, rounded ones closely, "I wonder why that is."

Indifferent, I shrugged and reached for a glass, settling into the thick heather. An Elf emerged with trays of breads, fruits, and sweet meats, and another served countless glasses of a blood-red wine. I ate and drank in silence, awed by the simplistic beauty of everything around me. Melodic Elvish words rang from every mouth in the place but mine — even Frodo was able to work himself into a small conversation with the men next to us. He tried to explain to me what they were talking about, but it was hard for both of us to keep up.

Suddenly, a clear, fair voice resounded above the others', and the entire forest seemed to fall into revering silence. It was a tragic and lonely note, held long without interruption, and then joined by other supporting pitches, all of them high and sad. The voice kept me compellingly in its grasp and wrapped itself around my heart, nearly bringing me to tears.

"_Namárië, O nór melda. _

_I Númen lartas! _

_I taurë lauyas ringa _

_Ar i ëar __horta a yello…_"

I had wits enough to lean over and whisper chokingly to Frodo, "What is she saying?"

"She — she is saying goodbye," Frodo murmured. "I can't understand her, really — it's an older form of Elvish."

I leaned back into the fernery and heath, my face cupped into my hands. My eyelids were beginning to feel heavy, pulled down by the soothing melody of the song and the constant drowsiness drifting across my mind. I looked up into the sky, which was so bright and untainted that it was almost blindingly blue, and I noticed specifically where the atmosphere met the stretching arms of the vibrant green trees.

I remembered the last lonesome chord of the Elves' song, and Frodo looking back with a slight grin to see me staring up into the heavens… and then I fell asleep with Elvish sorrows and Frodo's smile in my dreams.


	14. A Homecoming

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own any of Tolkien's characters or the world he created. The only character of mine (Jorryn) has decided to take a holiday in Tolkien's Middle-earth. No copyright infringement on any of J. R. R. Tolkien's works is intended. 

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Okay, here is Jo's homecoming. The Party is getting nearer!! :) 

Several have asked for translations to the two songs in the previous chapter. Well, I don't pretend to be fluent in neither Sindarin nor Quenya, so please forgive any errors. Here's the first song, in Sindarin:

_O randir naer_ (**O wanderer sad**)

_Ned talath and fael _ (**In land long fair**)

_Gostaú i môr!_ (**Fear not the dark!**)

_Malthen aur_ (**Golden sunlight**)

_Nûr morn daw _(**Deep black night**)

_Lû, heb thurin i amarth_ (**Time, keep secret the fate**)

_Ned i mistad iell_ (**Of the straying daughter**) 

And the second, in Quenya:

"_Namárië, O nór melda. _ (**Farewell, O land beloved.**)

_I Númen lartas! _ (**The West waits!**)

_I taurë lauyas ringa_ (**The wood grows cold**)

_Ar i ëar horta a yello…_" (**And the sea sends flying a call...**) 

**

13

**

The sight of Bilbo Baggins standing before his large green door, a wide smile on his cheery face, was the perfect homecoming gift. Laughing, he reached up to me and pulled me into a hug, and I, surprised, nearly started to cry because I knew the dear old hobbit was going to be leaving the Shire soon. I buried my face into the soft fabric on the shoulder of his silky vest and tunic, hoping the two Bagginses wouldn't notice my sudden and unexpected change in mood. 

When we broke apart, his expression was thoughtful and kind, his gray hair curling wispily about his bright gaze. He patted me gently on the cheek, deliberately brushing away a single tear. "Come in, Milady," he said tenderly, "and I'll get you a cup of tea. The others should be here any minute."

I stepped into Bag End's front hall with a loving sigh and a shiver, one similar to the euphoric chill I felt whenever I looked at one of my hobbits. Frodo appeared beside me, slinging a bag down next to a carven barrel that held various walking sticks. "Glad to be home?" he asked quietly.

"Oh, yes," I whispered in reply. Throwing my cloak onto a nearby peg, I slipped under the hanging candelabrum to follow Bilbo into the kitchen, running my hand along the smooth panels on the wall. The parlor adjoining to the pantries was cluttered with crates and piles of colorful paper — it was evident that the Party was mere days away. Gifts, tied with ribbons and nametags, cluttered the short table under the main window of the room, and I tried to not let my stare linger there long. I had not been expecting a present, but at the sight of the parcels, my curiosity was sparked. The large cushy armchairs next to the fireplace were draped with long unrolled pieces of parchment, and boxes had replaced the footrests.

"I am sorry about the mess, Jo, but everything just came in yesterday," Bilbo's muffled voice was calling from some closet. "Borwin insisted on leaving everything right there in the study — would you like some biscuits, Jo?" The hobbit's head peeked around the curving doorframe. 

"Um… sure," I shrugged, stepping around a large box. I knelt to pick up a bound stack of thick documents, labeled _Special Persons_ in Bilbo's spidery calligraphy. My heart fluttered, for I dreaded the thought that perhaps I was not on the "special persons" list. I would hate to have to spend such a historical Party amid hobbits that would most likely attempt to ignore me the whole evening. I set the list aside and said, "Biscuits sound really good."

Bilbo nodded in approval and continued to clutter and shuffle around his kitchen. "As I was saying — I'll have all of this moved out and into another room by tonight, if you'll excuse the untidiness until then."

Frodo and I shared a grin. "It's fine, Bilbo, I don't mind," I answered.

"And in your room… your Party gown arrived just before you did."

"Really?" I had returned to the main hall before Bilbo could say anything more, stooping quickly through corridors to my quarters at the back of the hobbit-hole. I entered my little room, pausing just a moment to admire the sunlight spilling in from the open window, and the incredible green outside, and the tidiness Bilbo had made of the mess on my desk; and then I saw my gown, spread out on the same low bed I had first found myself in, so long ago.

Smiling in wonder, I exhaled faintly. The dress was very simple in design and structure, but it was beautiful and suited exactly to my tastes. The glistening cloth was a deep blue silk, contrasting with the soft cream color of the bodice and bell-shaped sleeves, which flared out at the elbow. The bottom hem of the skirt was a narrow border of brocade, ornamented with little gold beads, and the decorated neckline was square and not too low.

I allowed my fingers to hover just above the exquisite garment. Bilbo's voice came lightly from behind me. "It isn't too bad, then?"

The hobbit was standing with one hand in the pocket of his housecoat, a bittersweet smirk tugging at his lips. "Oh, Bilbo!" I gasped, "It's so perfect — so totally perfect!"

"Yes, I… I had hoped that you would like it," he murmured, coming forward to gaze at it beside me, absentmindedly fingering something in his pocket. "I had it shipped from Michel Delving a week ago."

"Bilbo," I gushed, trying not to stare too hard at the fingers fiddling with a certain Something under his jacket, "thank you so much, I love it!"

"You are very welcome, my dear Jo," he chuckled. "I would hate to leave you anything less than the best I could give."

Just as I bent to kiss his weatherworn cheek, a loud, impatient knock sounded from the front hall. "That'll be the others," Bilbo acknowledged, jerking his head toward the noise. "They will most likely smother you, so be prepared for anything, my dear."

I dashed back to the front, Frodo waiting to open the door, an amused look on his face. "They are going to break the door down!"

And then Meriadoc Brandybuck's lilting call came stifled through the wood, "I heard you, Frodo Baggins! Really, if you don't let us in, we may have to do just that!"

Frodo simpered mischievously at me, pulling the large door inward and allowing Merry, Pippin, and Sam to tumble into Bag End, one on top of the other. Samwise was the first to reach me by struggling over on his knees, and he begged me tearfully, seizing my hands, "Please, Miss Jo, forgive me for leaving you behind! I _told _Merry that we should have just gone home… The Wood is a dangerous place to those who don't know it, and I _told_ them that…"

Merry shoved Pippin off him heavily and stood to brush himself off. "And we thank you very much for that, Sam," he said wryly, "it makes us all feel so much better about it, after all — "

"You should feel better, cousin," interjected Pippin in his playful tone, getting to his feet and sweeping dust from his hair. "Jo here has been most merciful."

"Merciful?" I laughed. "What do you want me to do, throttle you?"

"If it would make you feel better, miss," sniffed Sam dejectedly.

Jostling pointedly around the sniveling gardener, Merry shook his head sincerely. "Honestly, we all feel terrible about it, Jo. Could you ever possibly forgive us?"

"Of course — I love you all too much to be angry with you. It wasn't your fault anyway."

"We'll make it up to you," Pip decided. "You'll get two dances each from all of us at the Party!"

"Probably more than two," added Frodo slyly.

Bilbo emerged with a steaming kettle of tea, and he led us to a sitting room, one less cluttered than the one neighboring the kitchen. "No one will be doing any dancing if we don't get everything settled before the 22nd, which is closer than you all seem to think. There are gifts to be labeled, and tents to be assembled… And if that wizard doesn't get here soon, there will be no fireworks!"

"Gandalf will be here, Bilbo," said Frodo confidently, "and some of his best rockets will most likely accompany him."

"Yes, yes, I know, but so much Party Business does make one haggard. And what's more, I can't get anything done, what with those blasted Sackville-Bagginses calling at every odd hour of the day or night," huffed the hobbit, pouring me a cup of his tea. "I don't even know what they want with me!"

"Still having trouble with the S.-B.'s, are you?" sighed Merry, plunking into a chair. "I've a mind to give them all a few nice bashes on their pretty heads."

"Wouldn't do any good," said Pippin. "They've wanted Bag End ever since it came to you, Bilbo."

"I should hang a sign on the front gate," Bilbo mused, "something that says only certain persons can enter; only those visiting on Party Business."

"It wouldn't do any good," repeated Pippin with a toss of his curls. "Signs and polite notices don't keep the Sackville-Bagginses back."

"How disgustingly true, Peregrin," laughed Bilbo. "Do you know that they nearly caught me on the road a few days ago? I barely had time enough to slip off into the trees before they reached me. A lucky thing, too, they would have given me an earful."

"You slipped off the road, did you?" said Meriadoc mysteriously, glancing quickly at Sam and Pippin, who both peeked back with equally enigmatic looks. They all looked to Bilbo expectantly, three pairs of eyebrows raised.

The moment passed immediately and right under the nose of Bilbo. He nodded and shrugged, "Ah, well — we will simply have to bar the door and prepare for the siege that Bag End will be under before our Party Day."

I frowned at the devious trio, but Merry only winked at me over his cup of tea, and he slipped quickly into the newly forming conversation concerning the Gaffer's potatoes. 


	15. The Party

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own any of Tolkien's characters or the world he created. The only character of mine (Jorryn) has decided to take a holiday in Tolkien's Middle-earth. No copyright infringement on any of J. R. R. Tolkien's works is intended. Jorryn's friends are mine, also. 

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** I am very, _very _sorry for the considerable delay. To make up for the wait, I made this chapter especially long. Take note that the Party is not completely finished at the end of this chapter; I'm breaking it up so that I may post this much today! In the next chapter, Bilbo will have his Joke, and the Story begins. :) Thank you so much for reading, **everyone**! It's been almost a year since I started this story. Thanks for staying with me. Special thanks to **ArwenAria18** for her constant prodding and support. ;D 

**

14

**

Near the end of the second week of September, Bilbo asked me despairingly if I would sit outside and guard Bag End against unwanted visitors. He told me to send "the more enthusiastic well-wishers" home, but to allow the precious few that were really there on Party Business in — cooks asking about a new dish, decorators making sure that arrangements were suitable, and so on. He told me that several last-minute deliveries were going to be made that evening, and that I would know they were genuine just by looking at them. I guessed that the deliveries would be made by Dwarves. More than happy to get out of anxious Bilbo's way, I took one of my books and dutifully kept watch on the front porch. 

The sky above was devoid of all but a few harmless clouds, and the sun shone gently down on the Shire. There was a light breeze and the scent of grass on the air. I sat in a little circle of fern that formed short walls around me, and I read devotedly of the colonization of Tookland and the Took family. I could hear the rustle of trees and the scraping of Sam's rake in the garden some distance away. In this location I spent hours undisturbed, until just before lunchtime, when one of the Dwarves staying with us nearly tripped over me on his way back into the hole. 

But only a short time later, the clip-clop of a horse's hooves on the dirt and gravel Road leading around the Hill made me look up from my book. I curiously craned my neck to see over the fence, but stayed where I was seated in my bed of grass. 

A large chestnut horse pulled up at the gateway and tossed its long and noble head, shaking dust from a black mane. The wheels of a small wooden cart hitched to the animal also grated to a stop, and then creaked as the driver stepped down to gaze wistfully at Bilbo's _smial_. I sat mesmerized as I watched him; my eyes traveled to his wide, pointed hat, his somewhat hunched figure, and his ancient gray robes. Tucking a gnarled old staff under one arm, he didn't hesitate to push the gate aside and start up the steps, ignoring the "No admittance except on Party Business" sign. 

I could not move from my spot. Gandalf the Grey was nearly entirely past, until his bright eyes darted briefly to me, and he was forced to cover a look of slight astonishment. "Good day to you, Jorryn," he said promptly, a tinge of humor in his deep voice as he turned to face me. 

"Good day, sir," I managed to reply, impulsively closing my book on two of my fingers. 

Gazing at me appraisingly, he went on after a moment, his head tilted sideways, "It looks as though you are getting along well… extraordinarily well." 

I blushed, "Thank you very much, sir." 

He lips curved faintly, hints of surprise still playing across his face, and then knelt down to my level, his long beard tickling my bare feet — I had thrown my boots to the side just before sitting to read. "Good heavens…" he said in a low voice, "at first glance, I would have thought you were a hobbit, dear Lady." 

Embarrassed, I bit my lower lip and shrugged. "The ears… right? They give me away all the time." 

He chuckled, still staring very intently at me. "Yes, yes…" At length, he stood, brushing grass from his already dirtied robes. "I trust that Master Baggins has been treating you well?" 

"Very well, thank you." 

The wizard smiled and made his way up the steps the Bag End's front door, where he knocked roughly on the painted surface with his staff. 

Bilbo's exasperation was released immediately from inside. He refused to open the door unless he could be convinced that his visitor wasn't there to harass him. "Confound it all, Jo, I thought I asked you to keep them away!" 

"This one was a bit difficult," I called back through the wood, coming to stand next to Gandalf, who was grinning amusedly. "He's not easily frightened by a little girl." 

"Well, tell him we don't want anymore well-wishers, gift-givers, Party-helpers, or distant relations today!" 

Gandalf's booming voice broke into our exchange, "I am none of those, Bilbo Baggins, so you had better open this door, and quickly!"

There came a little surprised yelp and a thump, as though something had been dropped, and the doorknob clicked a moment later. Bilbo bustled quickly from behind it, pulling it completely open to reveal the long front hall. "Gandalf!" he exclaimed softly. 

The wizard knelt before Bilbo and embraced him like a father holding his infant son. "Dear old Bilbo," he murmured in greeting, smoothing the hobbit's thick hair. 

Bilbo stepped away first, quivering with enthusiasm. "Gandalf, how good to see you! It's been far too long, we haven't had a chance to talk… you only stayed for a short time on your last visit… do come in, come in!" 

Gandalf patted the hobbit's shoulder and stood, removing his peculiarly shaped hat and bending under the doorframe. I watched them go — the wizard was hunched double to maneuver under ceiling beams and hanging light fixtures, Bilbo chattering on before him — and stayed on the front steps, overcome with a sudden sense of awe. "This is it," I whispered to myself, a fountain of excitement shooting up to my heart. 

The fireworks for the Party were just a few meters behind me, and Bilbo Baggins was talking with Gandalf the Grey of the Joke he was going to play in just a few days. And I was _there_. I was at the beginning of the story that had enchanted millions… _the_ beginning of the story I had read that very same summer. I shook my head… school and work and everything familiar seemed to be from a time almost forgotten. 

I turned away from the door to look out over the Shire. Green hills crisscrossed by roads, which were cut into the red earth as evenly as seams on a great emerald quilt, met my gaze. Fields of grass and flowers stretched out in a colorful patchwork. I lifted my face into the sweet, cool breeze, shivering at the delicate feeling of euphoria brought on by simply standing there. A group of hobbit-children came running up the path, giggling loudly, and then stopped dead at the sight of Gandalf's cart filled with crates of fireworks. They spotted me and dashed to the gate, too young to realize that I was something they should have feared. 

"Is Mr. Gandalf inside, Miss?" one of them shouted in a very high voice. 

"He is," I nodded. 

"Rockets!" they squealed, "Sparklers!" 

"Do you think he would show us any, Miss?" another exclaimed. 

"At the Party," I nodded again, having fun teasing them. 

A collective groan was produced from the tiny group. "Just a few small ones?" 

"He didn't _bring _any small ones, dear. Do you think Mr. Bilbo would want small fireworks for any party of his or Mr. Frodo's?" I hopped down a couple of steps, bending to pick up my shoes. 

"Not even a little one?" 

"Not even a little," said a voice suddenly at my shoulder. Sam had come around from the gardens, his hoe in a soiled hand. He called to the little ones, "Off with you, now, Mr. Bilbo doesn't want to be bothered. You'll have to wait 'til the Party, like everyone else." 

"Sorry," I apologized to the saddened hobbits, "but Master Samwise has spoken." 

As the children scampered off, disappointed, I turned to Sam with a grin and joined him on his walk back around the _smial_. "Madness, all this," he muttered to himself, depositing his hoe into a bag of gardening supplies. "Just yesterday the Gaffer and I caught a little runt trying to dig a hole through Bag End's west wall. They'll be pitting the gardens up, before long." 

"Has that ever happened before?" I asked in surprise, stepping over a plot of flowers and entering the garden. 

"One of the young Sackville-Bagginses tried it quite a few years ago, looking for treasure, he told us… They're a downright nasty family, when it comes to it. You'll want to stay away from them, if you can." 

"I will, then." 

The Gaffer, who had never really warmed up to me, glimpsed me coming along with his son, and disappeared immediately behind a half-pruned bush with a disgruntled "_harrumph_." Shaking earth from his shirt, Sam heaved a sack of potatoes onto his shoulder and shouted to his father that he was going in. The bush grunted, and Sam took it as a signal of approval. 

We headed for one of the kitchens to deliver the fresh potatoes. Every pantry and cupboard was filled with food in preparation for the Party, and Sam looked longingly at it all. "Have you ever seen such a thing, Miss Jo? Hope it'll be enough." 

With the potatoes safely transported, Sam and I wandered through the pantry and soon met a windswept Frodo in the hall. "Gandalf's here," he informed us happily. 

"Yes, and children are already begging for pre-show fireworks," I smirked. 

At that moment, the wizard and his old hobbit friend could be heard from the main parlor. Gandalf's reverberating laugh rolled through the corridors, accompanied by Bilbo's high voice telling some story of what troubles he had been caused lately by people wanting to know details of the Party. 

The three of us stayed silently in the hall, and when I looked to Frodo, his countenance was somber. I knew what he was thinking — how empty the hobbit-hole would seem without Bilbo — how much we would miss him. The young Baggins was frowning remotely at my now booted feet, his thin lips slightly parted. 

Sam shifted in the awkward moment, then mumbled, "I'm going to see if the Gaffer needs any more help," and he departed through the back door once more. 

"It is going to be odd, isn't it, Jo?" murmured Frodo after a second. 

I stared unfocusedly at him, knowing that I was feeling exactly as he was. Bilbo was _leaving_… and while I knew that Frodo and the others would see him again, I might not. My stomach sank. 

I jumped at a sudden loud knock on the door. "Bilbo Baggins, open up! We know you're in there!" Faces plastered themselves to the small windows next to the entryway, fogging the glass, their furious yells barely audible through the walls. "Why didn't we receive invitations, Baggins?" 

"I am not at home!" hissed Bilbo to us from the sitting room. Gandalf chortled at the hobbit's whispers. "Don't you dare open that, Frodo!" 

Frodo pulled me into a passageway leading to the largest storeroom near the kitchen, and he peered around the corner until he was sure that the unwanted visitors had gone. When the knocks and shouts died down, a very loud sigh could be heard from Bilbo. "Wretched little sneaks!" 

I walked to the front of the corridor and stuck my head into the parlor, where Bilbo was plopped into a chair, eating a plate of bread and cheese. Gandalf sat beyond, long tendrils of blue smoke escaping from his mouth and pipe. "Would you like me to go back out and keep watch?" I asked Bilbo. 

"Take a club with you," he bade, "and feel free to clobber anyone you wish!" 

I laughed and went outside. 

* * *

"Jo, aren't you ready _yet_?" 

I jumped at the sound of Frodo's voice and dropped the pin I had been trying to force into my hair. Hoisting my Party skirts, I bustled over to the doorway of my room to meet Frodo, who was impatiently waiting for me in the hall. 

"My hair!" I whimpered, throwing down the curls bundled into one of my hands. 

"It looked very nice while it was down!" he said exasperatedly, completely confounded that anyone would make such a deal about their hair. Hobbits must have never been as picky as I. 

Stepping out, I peered around him toward the front door. "Is Pippin here yet?" 

"Yes…" he sighed, "you're insufferable, Jo!" With that, he left to find his cousin and some help for me. 

Before long, Peregrin appeared, ready to save the day. He had my hair under control in no time, braided into a crown decorated with blue ribbons. I sat on the ground patiently while he worked, looking up at Frodo, who was tapping his large toes. "Happy birthday, Frodo," I said impishly. 

"Thank you very much," he replied, "but I shall miss my Party if we don't move along." 

Pippin snickered. "It lasts all day, doesn't it, dear cousin? You can come and go as you wish, if I'm guessing aright." 

"Your guess is correct, Pip. The first luncheon starts soon, though…" 

"The Party can't start without you or Bilbo, Frodo," I pointed out, wincing slightly as Pippin tightened a last braid. "We'll all walk down together." 

As had become our custom whenever Pippin did my hair, the hobbit tickled the nape of my neck and proclaimed that he was done. "It should stay in place, even if you dance very energetically, Jo," he joked. 

I got to my feet and shook my head quickly to test the braid's hold. "It works very well, Pippin, thank you." 

Outside on Bag End's front step, Gandalf and Merry were sitting on the top of the dirt stair smoking pipe-weed, while Sam and Bilbo waited behind them, near the gate. Bilbo was looking out toward the Party grounds, wearing a smart burgundy dress coat with a large black collar and cuffs. A cherry-red, double-breasted waistcoat was underneath it, complete with two rows of shiny gold buttons. The old hobbit's gray hair looked especially fluffy. 

Samwise was watching Bilbo's fingers tap out a rhythm on the gateway post, where the "No Admittance" sign still hung. He appeared to be somewhat uncomfortable in a thick, unadorned brown coat and a plain white shirt buttoned chokingly up to his neck. Gandalf was also dressed as simply as the gardener; he still had on his rippling gray robes. 

Frodo, Pippin, and I approached quickly, and everyone turned to watch us come out. Merry jumped up very quickly when he saw me, jerking his pipe out of his mouth. He had on a white tunic under a vest with a boxy pattern of red on orange, which went startlingly well with his hair. His mouth was open, but nothing was currently coming out. 

I realized that I hadn't even paid attention to what Pippin or Frodo had been wearing, and when I glanced at them, I saw that Pip had dressed himself in a dark blue vest lined on the collar and hems with a swirling border of gold. Frodo had worn something equally basic, though still cute. His whole waistcoat was a pattern of black velvet foliage above a dark ruby fabric, sported over the usual tunic. 

Everyone smiled broadly as the three of us came out into the cool morning air. "What a lovely dress, Jo," commented Bilbo mischievously from the gate, his cheek in a hand. "What sweet, handsome hobbit gave you something like that?" 

"I don't know his name… but he's some old codger that lives in a hole in the ground." 

"It _is _nice," choked out Merry at last, pretending to cough on smoke from his pipe. 

"Her hair," pointed Pippin proudly, and I gave my ribbons an artful shake, "don't you like it?" 

"I should have asked you to do _mine_, Peregrin," rumbled Gandalf from his seat, his pipe still fixed in his mouth. 

Bilbo snorted with a smirk, "He would have needed a pitchfork to get through that mess, dear Gandalf!" 

We laughed at the look the two friends shared. "Point taken, Mr. Baggins," grunted the wizard, also smiling as he got to his feet, towering above all of us. "Shall we head down to the Fields?" 

The air was chill, but the sun's warm glow offset the coolness. Dewy moisture clung to the grass from rains of previous days. Bilbo had been extremely worried that the stormy weather would ruin their Party, but the showers had let up just in time, almost teasingly. Now everything smelled fresh and renewed, and the climate was perfect. It felt more like late spring than it did early autumn. 

I carried my skirts proudly, love for my new dress growing with every passing moment. The outfit made me feel more hobbitish than ever; I had gone barefoot (at Bilbo's request), and the damp grass tickled my toes. The elder Baggins had insisted that I not go clomping around "like some giant" in my boots, as most hobbits would be too preoccupied with food and drink to notice a human girl hovering a few inches above them. And of course there was Gandalf to occupy their attention with his presence and his fireworks. 

The Party grounds, just down the Hill and over the Road behind Bag End, were set up in a little clearing surrounded by foliage. Canopies and tents of all colors stretched over the lawn, and lanterns were strung between the huge, rustling trees and around the perimeter on wooden stakes. There was one particularly large tree which soared above all the rest, its great green arms spreading nearly the width of the field. Directly under its branches was a vibrant banner wishing the Bagginses two very happy birthdays. The grandest pavilion was also there, decorated with flags and streamers and another sign like the one on Bag End's gate, which read, "Special Persons ONLY." 

Little round tables were arranged under the canopies for numerous guests, already set with plates and silverware and sizeable goblets. Several clusters of hobbits had gathered at a white gateway barring early company, and as we approached they sent up a cheer. "Been waiting for an hour, Mr. Baggins," one of them hooted. "I'm ready for breakfast!" 

"Wait a moment, Podo!" called Bilbo, harried. He pulled a set of keys from a pocket and unlocked the chain holding the gateway closed, and was immediately surrounded. "Good morning, Bougainvillea… Yes, nice to see you, too, Ivy… Wilibald Burrows, how good of you to come, it's been years, hasn't it?" and so on and so forth went his greetings. I stood back, bemused and hesitant, waiting for someone to notice me so that I could receive their predictable, fearful gawk and get it over with. 

Frodo remained near to me, welcoming everyone who passed and introducing me to them. Most took a step back and gave a little bow, keeping an arm's length between us, but some were brave enough to give my hand a flimsy shake. Pippin murmured into my ear, "They don't mind you, Jo — and they won't, because they know they're going to get five or so generous meals today. For that, they will tolerate a ferocious human girl." I giggled and nodded my head to a little hobbit who introduced herself as Daisy Bumbleroot. 

There seemed to be no end to the stream of hobbits that poured in from the Road and through the gate. Hobbits of all sizes and shapes, wearing every shade of brown and yellow and green and red imaginable, pushed through the line, said a traditional hello to Bilbo, and then dashed for the table that was stacked with presents for guests. I knew very well that hobbits gave presents to others on their own birthdays, but I wasn't sure if it was customary for the birthday-hobbit to get a gift himself. A couple of days before, I had drawn a quick caricature of Frodo and Bilbo, and I was planning on giving it to Bilbo whether it was conventional or not. He was leaving, after all. 

Nearly an hour and a half later, Gandalf had disappeared, and Merry and Pippin had left for some food. Sam went off shortly after them. The last of the company had entered the Party grounds and received their gifts. Bilbo turned toward Frodo and me, exhaling heavily. "The hardest part's done with now, thankfully, my dears. How are you two holding up?" 

"It's time for some lunch, I think," Frodo smiled. 

We passed the gift table on our way in. It was empty, yet I wasn't disappointed. I couldn't ask for anything more than simply being there and enjoying the company of hobbits, the creatures that had enthralled me ever since I had read the first lines of _The Fellowship of the Ring_. 

As we made our way back into the "special" tent next to the largest tree, we were met by more shouts and whoops than before. It seemed to me that most of Bilbo's friends and relatives had forgotten that they had just given the two Bagginses their salutations less than an hour before. Bilbo stopped at each tent and ordered the food to be served to the groups of eager and famished guests. 

When finally we reached the long table in the main pavilion, the three of us plopped down next to Gandalf and Sam and waited for our suppers. The wizard puffed a cloud of blue smoke rings from his pipe, saying nothing until Bilbo was safely in a seat beside him. "One hundred and eleven years, Bilbo Baggins," he remarked in a soft voice, as if he were just realizing the fact. 

"A long time to live," Bilbo agreed offhandedly, shaking out a linen napkin. 

Unable to resist, I put in, "Time enough for dragons to be slain, and treasure to be won!" 

One corner of Bilbo's mouth quirked up as the memories of his exciting journeys came back to him. Gandalf looked to me. "So you know about his adventures with Smaug of the Lonely Mountain, and with the Dwarves?" 

"Of course she does," answered Bilbo for me, not realizing the seriousness of the question. "I'm writing a book about it. She must have read it at least twice, now." 

The wizard held me pinned under his gaze for a long moment, and then at last turned away. 

* * *

The day consisted mostly of food, games, and conversation. Children ran excitedly around the tables and tents, waving their new toys in the air while parents chided them unconvincingly. The weather did not change at all as noon came on, when we were well past elevenses and tea, long after I had met every hobbit in the place at least twice. Merry and Pip showed up in time for the second meal. Pippin bounced around so much next to me that I had to restrain him once or twice. 

I sat under the Party tree staring up at the light filtering into the pinkish canvas of the tent's roof, listening to the constant chatter and laughter around me. Under the top of the canopy, the horizon could be seen for miles; the day was so clear that the hills stretched endlessly on in every direction, draped with a thin haze. Merry, returning from a venture to the food tables, punched me lightly on the arm. "Having fun, Jo?" 

"Yes, very much," I replied without hesitation, punching him back. 

"Just you wait," he tittered, "the dancing and fireworks haven't even started yet." 

"You never taught me any of your dances," I remembered suddenly. 

"We didn't?" said Pippin, who was sitting at my other side. "Well, then…" He seized my hand and dragged me into the trees next to the Road, Merry following close behind. The younger hobbit walked about me for a few moments, his emerald eyes glinting, before consulting his friend. "I'm not sure, Meriadoc — which shall we teach her?" 

"Whatever one you choose, you'd better teach it fast," replied Merry, gnawing on a piece of spiced bread. "It won't be long until it's time to dance." 

"The springle-ring is fairly easy," frowned Pip, as if he were not sure if I was capable of learning it. He stepped up to me and took my hands, explaining, "First you spin — sing the music for us, Merry — and then you lean… right, up, left — good, there you are." He let go of me and hopped away, bringing his thumbs under his suspenders and waving his bent arms in imitation of a bird. I laughed at the way his eyebrows arched in rhythm with his bouncing. 

Deciding to join us, Merry put his plate aside. "No, no, Peregrin, you must go down on every beat, then spin again." He whirled around me and clapped his raised hands, nodding his curly head to the tempo of Peregrin's humming. The entire thing then began over again. 

"Now do it once more, only much faster," prompted Pippin. 

A few minutes later, the three of us returned to Bilbo's table, winded and disheveled. Frodo and Sam gave us strange looks. Merry said to them, "She's an excellent dancer, but we mustn't let anyone steal her away from us." 

"You'd better get your rake out and ready, Sam," added Pippin. "We'll need it to keep demanding hobbits away from her." 

The day waned much too quickly. I randomly told the hobbits over a delicious supper about hot dogs, carbonated beverages, bubblegum, and other foods that I rather missed — like the Popsicle I remembered Rashida offering me in the fireworks stand. This interested my friends greatly, of course, and by the end of our conversation I had described to them every one of my favorite foods. The idea of so many possible desserts such as Jell-O and bubblegum-filled lollipops fascinated them. 

The fireworks started an hour after dinner, at six-thirty. Never had I seen such marvelous displays of smoke or light — great pinwheels of fire smoldered the evening heavens, and rockets exploded into the forms of animals, plants, or a giant "Happy Birthday" message. Fizgigs, sparklers, squibs, firecrackers, and torches were given to the children, and in addition Gandalf entertained them with little magic pieces that became golden butterflies or streamers of vivid color that the children could safely handle while magic still lived in them. Soon the young ones were dancing about, giggling loudly, trying to show the adults their enchanted playthings. But the miraculous fireworks would disappear whenever an older hobbit reached to touch them. 

Everyone moved onto a little clearing surrounded by tables, where the wizard was letting off his brilliant light show. Somewhere from the perimeter of the gathering a band struck up an energetic tune. The sunlight was fading quickly from a pink and yellow twilight sky. Lanterns and torches were lit to illuminate the grounds. 

I walked apart from Bilbo and Frodo, who were both gazing up at the shimmering explosions side by side. A pair of hobbits hurried past us, carrying a huge white cake with over a hundred glowing candles protruding from every possible angle atop it. I could hear Bilbo chuckle. It saddened me to remember that this was the last time the Bagginses would be together in Hobbiton. 

Under Gandalf's exceptional lighting, the dancing began. Sam and I were the only ones who refused to go out amid the spirited mass of hobbits, so we sat alone sipping our favorite drinks, watching silently. The gardener's eyes kept moving to one small hobbit-girl, I noticed; she had sand-colored hair and an attractive face graced by dimples. She twirled away from us, and Samwise sighed heavily, hunching over his mug. 

Talking courteously with his guests, Bilbo moved around the clearing and stood behind me. "Where have Meriadoc and Peregrin gotten to?" he whispered into my ear. 

"I don't know, Bilbo… I saw them dancing just a moment ago." My stare swept the area. 

He made a censorious sound, standing upright. "If you see them, tell them not to make trouble. I have my own Joke planned." 

As if on cue, the pair appeared behind the old hobbit. "Did you notice your cake, Bilbo?" prattled Pippin without delay. "I've never seen one so big." 

"It's not just mine," replied Bilbo, turning to give them an appraising look, searching perhaps for hidden tricks or stolen property, "half is Frodo's." 

"Ah, I see," Merry said politely, bouncing on his bare toes, hands behind his back. His eyes met Sam's when the gardener twisted in his seat to better hear what we were saying. 

Bilbo frowned, seeming to want to inquire further into the duo's strange behavior, but he was whisked away at that moment by a cluster of rather drunken guests. Samwise pursed his lips disapprovingly. "You two had better not be getting yourselves into another mess." 

The pitch of Merry's voice became innocently high, "What other messes are these, dear Sam?" and the two of them meandered off into the crowd. 

"They've got something up their sleeves," said Sam with confidence. "You'd better keep an eye open, Miss Jo." 

Frodo suddenly slipped away from the circle of dancing hobbits, his face red and hair more wild than usual. He fell into the chair opposite Sam, smiling broadly to expose the space between his front teeth. "Why don't the two of you dance?" he panted, reaching for a mug of ale. 

Sam and I shifted in our chairs and muttered excuses. "I couldn't, Mr. Frodo, I'm quite comfortable here — " 

"And I haven't learned any of your dances but one, Frodo, so you see — " 

"You are both about as dull as ditch water," laughed Frodo, shaking his head. He plunked his cup down on the table and reached for my hand. "Come on, then, Jo — I promised you a dance. Sam, why don't you ask Rose?" The hobbit jerked his head toward the sand-haired girl Sam had been watching. We left the poor nervous gardener while he was still grumbling that he was comfortable enough sitting and drinking, and that Rose didn't need another dance. 

Frodo dragged me into the middle of the circle and immediately slipped one arm about my waist and gripped my hand in his. I stumbled and tripped through the first few steps, making the two of us look even more awkward than we did already, what with my head bobbing several inches above everyone else's. We burst into uncontrollable laughter at our combined clumsiness. The dance we were doing was similar to the springle-ring, just at a slower pace, and with more spinning. "Poor Jo," gasped Frodo, doubled over from the force of his amusement, "I've found a dancer that is worse than me, at last!" 

"Keep in mind that I'm also bigger than you, hobbit," I warned, "I could squash you like I bug, if I wished." 

"Maybe you could injure someone with your ungainly dancing," he chortled, wiping a tear from his eye. He watched me pirouette dramatically. "Though, if you had the right music, you could be magnificent." 

"Thank you very much." I continued to waltz in our little space, my arms thrown out like the great ballet dancers of my time, until I quite unexpectedly tripped on someone's foot and tumbled into Frodo, thrusting my nose into his chest. The hobbit staggered, but didn't fall under my incredible weight as I expected him to. 

"Are you all right?" he murmured down, his arms around me. I could feel his voice vibrate through his body and into my head, for I still had a cheek pressed under his neck. 

"Fine," I said, rising abruptly once my balance was regained. "Thank you." 

"It was nothing," Frodo replied hastily. My face was flaming, and I knew it. We remained there, looking around at everyone else still dancing. The music changed, and Pippin hurried up to us. 

"The springle-ring!" he cried. "May I cut in, dear Frodo?" 

"Certainly," Frodo said graciously, moving back and out of the way. 

Pippin took my hands, calling behind him to his cousin, "Get Sam to dance with Rosie, Frodo!" 

We began to spin, Pippin whispering the steps and moves to me above the song, but I hardly noticed. My eyes followed Frodo until he disappeared from my view. 


	16. Bilbo's Joke

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own any of Tolkien's characters or the world he created. The only character of mine (Jorryn) has decided to take a holiday in Tolkien's Middle-earth. No copyright infringement on any of J. R. R. Tolkien's works is intended. The poem in this chapter is called "Music, When Soft Voices Die (To—)" by Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792 – 1822), and does not belong to me. I'm just using it for a while. :) 

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** I think I'm getting better about writing more quickly. :) The Party continues in this chapter, and Bilbo has his Joke. As mentioned above, the "song" that Jo sings is "Music, When Soft Voices Die (To—)" by Percy Bysshe Shelley. Please enjoy, and let me know what you think! 

**

15

**

I found myself sitting alone after all the dancing, staring up into the blackness between tree branches. It was starting to get cold, and I shivered in the absence of my cape. The flashing of the fireworks, which seemed to only get more and more fantastic, lengthened the shadows. Gandalf set flights of swans and eagles soaring into the ink-black sky and showered flowers, colorful autumn leaves, and sparkling drops of rain down on the audience. We clapped and "oohed" at all the right times, and the children ran around delightedly with their heads tilted back.

While the wizard retrieved a huge, bulky rocket from his cart, I went to stand beside Bilbo and another fat little hobbit whose name I had forgotten. Bilbo was rocking back and forth from heel to toe, and he nodded his head to the crouched figure of Gandalf when he noticed me.

"Gandalf had to warn me about this one," he said just before the wizard was going to light his last firework. 

I wished that he had warned me, too. The grand finale was a large scarlet dragon that exploded from a loop of gold, roaring and thrashing. It came swooping down upon the poor hobbits, its large jaw spouting yellow sparks. Many of the guests dove underneath tables and covered their heads, but I ducked behind Bilbo's narrow frame. The dragon's wing brushed within an arm's length of me.

The flaming dragon passed overhead and lingered above Bag End, fire searing the chilly evening air. Then in a blinding flash of white, the dragon burst into searing rings, and quickly faded into the dark.

Bilbo, unperturbed, clapped his hands and shouted across the field, "That was the signal for dinner! Everyone to the tents!"

I followed him to our table under the Special Persons pavilion. One hundred and forty-four guests had been invited to eat under the special tent — mostly family and other important friends. The giant birthday cake was set before the two Bagginses' chairs, the candles on it still flickering. It was frosted with a thick, creamy icing decorated with vibrantly colored flower petals and tiny greenery. The size of it was amazing; when I sat in my chair, it towered above me. "Blow the candles out, Bilbo!" someone yelled from behind us.

Three chairs down from me, I saw Bilbo stand and motion Frodo up beside him, so that they could blow out their candles together. Pippin suddenly dashed up behind Frodo, knocking over the stool he was sitting on in the process, to whisper something urgently into his ear. Frodo's grin promptly changed to a look of irritated astonishment, and he stepped away from the table, looking at the cake as though it were a rabid beast. One of his hands hastily went to Bilbo's shoulder, but it was too late. The old hobbit had leaned over his cake and blown a lungful of air out onto the small flames.

I flinched as several of the candles burst into a brilliant cloud of smoke the color of fine sulfur. Sam, sitting beside me, sighed heavily and put his head into his hands. "Merry and Pippin! Didn't I tell you, Miss Jo? I knew they had something planned, the galoots!"

Sure enough, the two troublesome hobbits were the first to help a yellow-faced Bilbo back from the cake, gasping apologies between their laughter. I stifled my own giggles. Even Frodo, standing behind the flustered Bilbo, had a hand over his mouth, and his shoulders were shaking with small, concealed chuckles. The rest of the Party guests, while mildly surprised, didn't care about concealing their guffaws and hoots. Their noise covered Bilbo's dazed sneeze.

Gandalf joined the group helping Bilbo and knelt before him, wiping his saffron cheeks with a napkin. "Now where, I wonder," he said softly, "did you get those candles, Bilbo?" His clear eyes shot over to Meriadoc and Peregrin.

"I'm almost _sure_ that I know!" replied Bilbo, wheezing. Miraculously, his clothes and the cake had not been damaged. 

"Curious," murmured the wizard. "These sort of tricks are not usually found in the Shire. In fact, I brought a few candles just like those with me, lest an unlikely need for them were to arise. I cannot imagine who else could have obtained them."

At this point, Pip and Merry were fidgeting uncomfortably, looking everywhere except right in front of them, at Gandalf. But the wizard did nothing about the obvious fact that the two of them were the culprits. They had been frightened enough by his roundabout admonishments.

Gandalf returned to his seat between Frodo and I, nobly straightening the cloak fastened around his neck, smirking briefly at me. I marveled at the fact that he could be wearing his ordinary, soiled robes and at any time still manage to look like the most venerable being in existence.

Our dinners were brought, yet I hardly even took note of what I was eating. I thought later that it might have been some sort of soup, followed by a large meal (maybe chicken) that I probably didn't finish. I was trying all the while to speak with Bilbo over Gandalf and Frodo, trying to thank him for everything, to tell him that I would miss him terribly. However, the hobbit was quite preoccupied with other matters and kept fiddling idly with something in his pocket. I kicked myself for spending so much time dancing, when I should have stayed with him during those last, precious minutes.

And then the feast was over. My food disappeared from under my nose as I stared at the tabletop, blank and uncomprehending. Several younger hobbits, knowing that an after-dinner speech was probably coming, attempted to escape their parents' clutches, but the older ones were full of the best cuisine and ale they'd ever had, and they were willing to sit through anything. A couple of the more enthusiastic ones called in slurred voices, "Speech, Bilbo… let's have a speech, now!" and Bilbo stood. My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach. There was a fleeting moment in which my gaze traveled over to the old hobbit, alone above a sea of heads, his countenance revealing briefly that he was readying himself for what he was about to do. The faces turned up to him were as expectant and impassive as those of small children.

"My dear People," he began composedly. Shouts of "Hear, hear!" came from a couple of impatient groups. Frodo clapped teasingly and yelled, "Speech!" as the lamplight played on Bilbo's spry, smiling features. The old Baggins's hands moved from where they had been clasped behind his back; one went to a pocket, and the other flew into the air, waving for his guests' attention.

"My dear Bagginses, Boffins, Tooks, Brandybucks, Grubbs, Chubbs, Bolgers, Bracegirdles, and Proudfoots — "

"Proudfeet!" shouted an elderly voice from somewhere in the back of the gathering. I couldn't see him, but he sounded very pompous.

"Proudfoots," said Bilbo firmly, his smile fading slightly. "Also my good Sackville-Bagginses that I welcome back at last. Today is my one hundred and eleventh birthday!"

"And Frodo's thirty-third," I murmured under the cheering and applause. Noisemakers were going off everywhere, making all sorts of not-so-musical sounds amid the din. The short-lived interlude gave me a chance to lean forward and peer down the table at Frodo, who seemed untroubled and was beaming up at his uncle.

"Now," shouted Bilbo, licking his lips, "I have called you all together for a Purpose. Or perhaps it should be said, _Three_ Purposes. First, I mean to tell you that I am immensely fond of all of you, and that eleventy-one years is too short a time to live amongst such excellent and admirable hobbits." The comment made the hobbits awfully pleased with themselves, and they sat smirking at each other and congratulating one another for their natural excellence. 

But Bilbo's voice came abruptly over them, "I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

The area under the Special Persons tent became dangerously quiet. "And the second Purpose, of course, is to celebrate the birthdays of both my nephew, Frodo, and me. He comes of age and into his inheritance today. Together we score one hundred and forty-four. Your numbers were chosen to fit this remarkable total: One Gross, if you will pardon the expression." The silence, if possible, grew deeper — it must have been an extremely distasteful term. The Sackville-Bagginses were scowling at their crazy old relative.

"It is also, as my dear Lady Jo was so kind to remind me — " My head shot up, and I was just in time to see the wink that Bilbo sneaked down to me. " — the anniversary of my arrival by barrel at Esgaroth on the Long Lake; though the fact that it was my birthday slipped my memory on that occasion. I was fifty-one then, and birthdays didn't seem so important. Since I had a terrible cold at the time, I could only say 'Thag you very buch,' and was not very keen on entertaining anyone. But now I may say it correctly: Thank you very much for coming to my little Party."

I could feel and hear my heart pounding in the unresponsive hush that had fallen over the guests. There was only one Purpose left, and I knew precisely what it was going to be.

"Thirdly, and finally," Bilbo said solemnly, "I wish to make an _announcement_." The last word was spoken with such loudness and intensity that everyone jumped and sat up apprehensively, even Gandalf. Bilbo's tone softened, however, as if the things he said next were meant for only those sitting directly around him. "I regret to announce that this is the end. I am going now." The luminance of the lanterns hanging from the huge, rustling Party tree did not seem so cheerful anymore. The hobbit breathed deeply, swallowing, staring down at his feet… his gaze slipped up to Frodo, paused a second, slid over Gandalf, and came to rest on me. He swallowed again. "Goodbye."

And he disappeared.

* * *

It was much like watching a television screen losing its power. Bilbo was still there, but for a millisecond he was flickering, and then was suddenly and completely gone. Gandalf reacted immediately, aiming his staff at the ground under Bilbo's chair, coaxing a flash of blinding light from its end. Frodo recoiled, covering his face, and the hobbits on the other side of Bilbo fell out of their seats. All of this happened in less than a few seconds.

Utterly bewildered, Bilbo's one hundred and forty-four guests blinked. The trio of hobbits that had been knocked from their chairs stood, gasped — and, along with every other person in the vicinity, began to talk at exactly the same time. 

The guests at the head table, which consisted mainly of Bilbo's closest friends and family members, sat noiselessly, except for a few I didn't know. They ran off into the crowd of irritable hobbits, shouting for more food and drink. Someone yelled, "He's mad — I always said so." Groaning, I grasped the fact that I would probably be made into another excuse for Bilbo's disappearance. I could just hear some hobbit muttering to his friend in a dark tavern, "It was that Girl… she looked kind of funny to me every time I saw her… and you knew already that she threw Meriadoc Brandybuck into the Water by Hobbiton before the Party, didn't you…?"

I glanced to my left. Leaned back easily in his stool, Gandalf had procured his pipe from somewhere, and he was nonchalantly puffing smoke-rings. Frodo, beyond him, propped his elbows on his knees and cupped his cheeks into raised hands. His expression suggested acquiescence, but there was something like grief showing in his eyes. I frowned and glared numbly at the grass between my toes. The chattering of hobbits and the slamming of plates and mugs down on tabletops were drowned out by my own thoughts.

Without a word, I stood, shuffled around Gandalf, and began to walk back to Bag End. I was jostled roughly by the Sackville-Bagginses, who all looked enraged and were stomping off the grounds through the main entry. Heading the opposite direction, I pushed through them and sidled hurriedly under the shadows of the trees, bunching up fistfuls of my skirts. I put the Party to my back and faced the Road. High above me, the Hill was an imposing black outline against the inky, star-filled sky.

I listened intently, beginning the short trek up the side of the _smial_. The air was thin with an early autumn chill, and wind whispered tentatively over the countryside. Passing the garden, I strained my ears, and the creak of Bag End's front gate drifted to me.

"Bilbo!" I hissed, bounding across the lawn. "Bilbo, where are you?"

The hobbit's voice came unexpectedly from behind me, next to the now-motionless gate. As I squeaked and whirled around, he murmured, "Hello, Jo."

It was the strangest thing to look at an empty area of air and hear a voice coming from it. "Bilbo," I whispered. "You're really leaving."

"Yes, I'm afraid so."

Worried that someone would see me and think I was crazy, I squatted down so that the shrubs around me provided some concealment. I sighed, searching for words that would come out sounding halfway intelligent. "I just wanted to say… Thank you for everything, Bilbo. You have no idea how much we'll miss you." The hobbit didn't answer, and I looked around anxiously. "Bilbo?"

"I'm here," came the soft, sober response. A rock skittered across the step Bilbo was apparently standing on, as though it had been kicked, and Bilbo sighed heavily. "Goodbyes really are dreadful things, aren't they, my dear?"

"Yeah," I muttered, drawing my knees up to my chest.

The conversation lapsed as we remembered the weeks that had passed, the noise of the Party still wandering up to us. I felt lonesome already, even though I knew the old Baggins was waiting somewhere near.

"The song, Jo," said Bilbo abruptly.

"What?"

"The song that we never got from you, on the day you rescued Merry. Would you mind giving it to me now?"

I smiled. I had actually considered what I would sing for them if they were to ever ask, although I had never thought of myself as much of a vocalist. "Well," I mused, "I don't remember all the words of the one I wanted, but I can try."

"Please do," said Bilbo keenly.

I rummaged around for the song that I had stored in the back of my memory and took a quick breath.

_ "Music, when soft voices die _

_ Vibrates in the memory — _

_ Odors, when sweet violets sicken, _

_ Live within the sense they quicken. _

_ Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, _

_ Are heaped for the belovéd's bed; _

_ And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, _

_ Love itself shall slumber on." _

Blushing, I shifted. My voice had broken in several places, for obvious reasons. "I… I don't know the rest. I can't sing, really."

Once again, Bilbo refrained from replying, but I didn't mind in the least. If I fixed all my attention on the spot where the hobbit supposedly was, I could hear his slow, gentle breathing, and an occasional sniffle. My thoughts began to amble back to the times when he, Frodo, and I had spent lazy evenings sitting on the stoop just meters away. The memories made me grin and direct my eyes to the empty space that Bilbo occupied. "I don't suppose you could write to us?" I suggested unconvincingly.

My comment was met with silence. I frowned into the darkness. "Bilbo?" A feeling of impenetrable loneliness suddenly sank in around me.

At long last, I finally realized that I was sitting in the gloom by myself, and I got to my feet. I turned away and opened the gate, gravel crunching under my feet. I crossed the Road, and when I reached the grass on the other side, I lifted my face to the stars and the moon, feeling the breeze. I went back down to the Party.


	17. After the Party

**DISCLAIMER:  **I do not own any of Tolkien's characters or the world he created.  The only character of mine (Jorryn) has decided to take a holiday in Tolkien's Middle-earth.  No copyright infringement on any of J. R. R. Tolkien's works is intended.  

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**  Huge thanks to **ArwenAria18 **and **kschultz **for their support and their suggestions.  It was kschultz who pointed out that Jo should have remembered about Gandalf's dragon firework, so I made sure to mention that in this chapter.  :)  And **Nell**:  Sorry I'm getting to your question late, but you asked in a review of chapter 15 what I was using for the time/event guide in my writing.  I use both, but mainly the book.  There are some aspects of the movie that I felt I could use, so basically I just take what I like and blend it with the book and things from my imagination.  :)  Thanks for your question!

**

16

**

            I stopped at the edge of the Special Persons pavilion, suddenly not really wanting to go back inside.  Darkness had its arms around me, and it felt much more comforting than the harsh, glaring torchlight of the Party.  From my standpoint, I could see Pippin and Merry staring confusedly into space, still sitting, and Sam was nearby, looking very nervous.  For some reason, I didn't want to talk to them just then.

            The other hobbits were clearly unmoved by Bilbo's Joke; they were as boisterous and jolly as ever, and were recounting tales of the old Baggins that "confirmed" his insanity.  Scowling slightly, I sank back into the shadows.  They did not realize their loss.

            I didn't know what to do next.  There was a spot in my heart that was distinctly empty — a hole left in Bilbo's absence.  I was debating whether or not to return to and wait outside Bag End, when I heard Frodo's voice.

            "He's gone, then?"

            I turned toward the dark-haired hobbit, recognizing the sweet lilt of his words, pulling at the hem of one of my sleeves.  I gave a weak shrug.  "Yes, Frodo." After a slight pause, I quickly added, "I'm sorry," because I had nothing better to say.

            He came to stand next to me, looking into the tent.  "I had hoped that it all really was just for fun… but Bilbo always did joke about serious things."

            His attention was momentarily held by the clamor of the guests, and I took the opportunity to gaze long at him.  The merry glow of the lamps threw strange highlights into his hair and outlined his profile in gold.  I longed to reach out to him, but the farthest my hand got was to his shoulder, and my fingers scarcely brushed the fabric of his tunic.

            Frodo's head came up, and he quirked a small, mournful smile.  "Shall we head back to Bag End, Jo?" 

            I climbed the Hill a second time with the hobbit, and we entered the _smial_ silently, creeping into the parlor directly off the front hall.  Everything was dark.  The fire had sunk to ashes in the hearth, and no candles were lit.  Sitting quietly in the shadows was Gandalf, his manner resembling that of an imposing phantom.  "Bilbo has gone at last," he said without delay, his eyes glowing like the faint embers in the fireplace.

            Frodo nodded hesitantly and replied, "I should have — I mean, I wish I'd been here to see him off."

            "I think he preferred to slip away quietly in the end," smirked the wizard, "but you needn't worry.  He's left you Bag End, together with all his possessions — and I think you will find a certain Ring on the mantel."

            My heart gave an excited leap into my throat.  Frodo went to the fireplace and picked up a thick envelope from the mantelpiece, staring down at it glumly, and I inwardly urged him to open it.  At last, setting the packet back on the ledge, he murmured, "The guests are still down on the fields.  I suppose I should... see them off."

            "You are master of Bag End now," Gandalf agreed.  "It is expected of you."

            The hobbit departed with his head still ducked, sorrow weighing palpably on his stooped shoulders.  I could feel Gandalf's heavy gaze on me as my eyes went after Frodo, following his tiny figure until the front door had closed behind him and I was alone with the wizard.

            "How much do you remember, Jo?" Gandalf asked unexpectedly, his voice sounding like a sudden rumble of thunder in the ominously quiet room.

            I blinked, facing him.  "I'm sorry, but — what do you mean?"

            "You said, at our first meeting, months ago," he recalled idly, sliding a hand into his robes and bringing out his long, curved pipe, "that you knew only of me.  You never really admitted how far your knowledge of the future extended."  When I replied only with a confused frown, he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees.  A cloud of smoke curled across my view of his bearded countenance.  "Lady Jorryn, please tell me honestly… how much do you remember?"

            My stomach twisted itself into knots, and I could only stand there, throat tight.  I fought to keep myself under control as thoughts flitted about in my head.  _He's going to send me away — I am a danger to everyone in Middle-earth — he'll send me to live in the mountains, where I can't hurt anything, where I can't change the Story —_

            A whisper finally escaped my lips.  "I know about the fate of the Ring."

            Something in his eyes wavered.  The brief and small expression of his anxiety terrified me — if Gandalf the Grey was afraid, I knew I should be, too.  The same agonizing thought crossed both of our minds at the same time, and we looked toward the mantelpiece and the envelope perched at its edge.

            "You realize the significance of this?" barked the wizard, and I nodded, apprehensive.

            "I have not said anything to anyone," I insisted, "not even to myself.  Really, I'm trying to forget."

            This comment drew a small, knowing smile from him.  "I trust you forget only the information that is useless to you, Jorryn."

            I pursed my lips.  He was right, of course… I had been trying to keep in my mind for months all the points of the story in which the Black Riders were to make an appearance, all the dangerous periods when I could possibly influence something or be injured while I was with my hobbits.  Often, I found myself staring at my hands at odd times, thinking of what might happen if I were to go with the hobbits to Rivendell… or Mordor.  I shuddered.

            But there were things I had failed to retain in memory, like the fact that Gandalf's last firework at the Party would be in the form of a dragon.  Such forgotten details made the future a dark and fearful place; what if I had passed over some seemingly meaningless factor while reading the books, one that could mean life or death for me or one of the hobbits?

            Wanting to escape those thoughts, I made myself go back to the present, and I met Gandalf's gaze as steadily as I could.  "I haven't said a word," I reiterated solemnly.  "I won't."

            The wizard absorbed this with a furrowed brow, his head tilted forward a little.  "It is an enormous responsibility, Jorryn.  If one of us were unintentionally walking into danger, would you allow him to go?"

            I struggled with unwanted images of two figures, one diminutive in the shadow of a demon, bent with age, the other massive, flaming, and dark.  They were battling on a narrow bridge above a bottomless chasm, and the smaller figure was yelling a warning, his sword and staff raised high —

            "Yes, I would."

            Gandalf nodded grimly, parting his lips so that a tendril of blue-gray smoke could unfurl, coiling into indiscernible shapes.  The passing of a horse and cart on the path outside cast uneven shadows onto the opposite wall, shadows that pooled in niches and crawled over obstacles like advancing water.  It made me think of something horrible — Sauron's darkness slithering over Middle-earth, consuming everything.  But the shadows passed quickly, and I was suddenly alone again with a very pensive wizard.

            "Perhaps it is time for you to retire," he said in a low voice.  

            I rubbed one eye, exhaustion catching up to me.  "Yeah," I agreed, and before he could say anything more, I quickly stole into the main hall and skulked to my room.  I didn't want to think about what Gandalf would do with me.  I supposed I'd be thought of as a ticking time bomb, if anyone but me knew what that was.  I smiled despite the situation.

            Forcing all qualms of being left behind out of my head, I dressed for bed, and was under the blankets within minutes.


	18. The Visit

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own any of Tolkien's characters or the world he created. The only character of mine (Jorryn) has decided to take a holiday in Tolkien's Middle-earth. No copyright infringement on any of J. R. R. Tolkien's works is intended. 

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** New chapter! I stayed up late to finish this one. :) Despite herself and all of Gandalf's warnings, Jorryn causes a disturbance... and the real adventure begins. **Thank you** to all of my readers and reviewers; you are incredible. 

**EDITED: **June 9, 2003. Time issues corrected. 

**

17 

**

Long, lazy months, and then years, came and went. The hobbits and I drifted through them aimlessly, spending days sitting either inside Bag End or outside on the Hill, doing pretty much nothing. Frodo took to walking at night like his uncle once had, probably meeting with Elves or Dwarves. Samwise, for a little while, gave blatant hints that he would be willing to accompany his master on any of these midnight strolls, but he was never invited. The young Baggins was troubled, and the only relief he seemed to find was in the dark, by himself. 

Eventually, the hobbits that seemed intent on driving us out of the hobbit-hole (rather, the Sackville-Bagginses) stopped harassing us, and the only company we received were Pippin, Merry, and plump little hobbit named Fatty Bolger. Even Gandalf had disappeared; his regular visits suddenly were few and far between. Frodo was disappointed, but I wasn't surprised. 

In short, life was noticeably different without Bilbo Baggins. The _smial_ was quiet and much more tidy. Random pages of Bilbo's book that had once been found sitting on nearly every surface were gone. The evenings that I had spent watching him blow his smoke-rings into the wind were already sorely missed. Bag End seemed huge when there was just Frodo and me to occupy it. 

I began to grow impatient. When would Gandalf make _the _visit? Every morning I awoke with my ears straining to hear the wizard's voice resonating through the hole. But for some reason, my memory told me that it would be years before the time came, and the thought was almost intolerable. My nerves were already wearing thin after just a few months — I could hardly bear the thought of having to wait _that_ much longer. 

Frodo was unable to ignore how restless I was becoming, so he persuaded me one night, to go out with Sam to the Green Dragon tavern. It was the beginning of April. Not really wanting to go, I reiterated the fact that I did not drink and had better things to do. But in the end, I found myself drifting behind Sam as we walked up the steps to the inn. 

It was clammy and dim inside, not very pleasant after the tiring walk from the Hill to Bywater. My mood had been dismal for the last few days, and upon entering the murky room it became that much darker. I would be sure to complain to Frodo about him making me go out. Though the ceiling was high by hobbit standards, I still had to stoop under the doorframe and wooden beams curving under the roof. 

There were several hobbits gathered around a crackling fire, sitting under a cloud of pipe-weed smoke with tankards in their hands. I followed Sam to a far corner, feeling the weight of quite a few gazes on my back. We took seats across from a hobbit who fidgeted when he saw us, looking as though he wasn't sure he wanted to sit opposite from the Gamgee and his Human friend. "Ted Sandyman," Sam murmured to me with a nod to the nervous hobbit crosswise from him. 

Within minutes, Samwise had his own mug of ale in hand, and he was listening intently to the resuming conversation around him. His shoulders were hunched over his drink, elbows on the table, his dark eyes shining behind the tangled hair that fell across them. Much to my relief, everyone quickly forgot about me when I made no move to attack any of them. 

It was a rather long while before I decided to actually pay attention to what the hobbits around me were saying. I noticed that Sam had his lips pressed tightly together, and Ted Sandyman had a particularly smug grin on his face. 

"… wasn't an inch. What he saw _was _an elm tree, as like as not." Sandyman leaned back in his chair, smirking at Samwise superiorly. 

I stared in confusion, and the Gamgee glanced quickly at me. "But this one was _walking_, I tell you! And there ain't no elm trees on the North Moors." 

"Then Hal can't have seen one," retorted Sandyman. 

Over the supportive laughter and applause that followed Sandyman's remark, Sam continued, "Strange things have been seen crossing the Shire these days." 

"What things?" someone snickered. 

"The Elves, for one," said Sam in a dreamy, ominous voice. "The Elves are moving west, out away beyond the White Towers. They are sailing, sailing, sailing over the Sea… they are going into the West and leaving us." 

Ted Sandyman laughed loudly. "What does that matter to any of us? Let them sail! But I'll warrant you haven't seen them doing it, nor anyone else in the Shire." 

I bristled in my seat, resisting the desire to kick Sandyman from under the table. The Elves were the ones fighting for all of them, protecting them from things that they would never dream of facing. _They have no idea_, I thought to myself. _They need to live in ignorance_. 

"I don't know," lamented Sam, huddling a little more over his mug. "There are some, even around here, that know the Elves and are able to get news from them. There's Mr. Frodo Baggins, the one that I work for. He told me that they were sailing, and he knows a bit about Elves. Mr. Bilbo knew even more." 

"Oh, they are both cracked," snorted Sandyman, waving a hand dismissively. "Or else old Bilbo was cracked, and Frodo's cracking now." 

Even as I urged myself to keep quiet, I was opening my mouth, anger making my face burn. "You don't have any right to say that," I found myself blurting out. 

The hobbit looked at me in surprise, tankard halfway to his open mouth. The words had been practically shoved through my gritted teeth, obviously achieving the affect I'd been aiming for. Hands shaking in my lap, I glared at Sandyman, wanting nothing more than to reduce the pompous hobbit to the stupid know-nothing that he was. Sam had turned to me in polite disbelief. 

"You don't _know_ either of the Bagginses," I went on, the astonishment of everyone palpable. "Don't talk as though you do. You have _no idea — _" I bit off that sentence, remembering Gandalf's numerous warnings, and took a shuddering breath. "Just — you don't _know_ anything. Leave the Bagginses alone." 

Sandyman opened and closed his mouth several times, and he looked so stunned that I couldn't help but to feel sorry for him. "Forgive me, Mr. Sandyman," I sighed halfheartedly, the tension in my rigid shoulders slowly easing away, "but Bilbo and Frodo are my friends. I can assure you that they are not insane." 

Many seconds later, someone coughed in the thick hush, and the thoroughly defeated Sandyman shuffled to his feet. "My apologies, Miss," he muttered, taking up his mug in a slightly trembling hand. "Your — your good health!" He raised his drink and drained it with a single gulp, and then turned to the leave the Green Dragon as quickly as his bare feet could carry him. 

* * *

"_Why_ did I have to open my big mouth, Sam? You should have said something to stop me." 

I pounded the heel of a hand to my forehead, and Samwise, walking beside me, laughed gently. Glancing at him, I kicked a pebble and yanked crossly at one of my braids. We had begun our walk back up the Hill from the tavern, and the sky was already tinged with the vibrant colors of twilight. Long grasses rustled quietly on either side of the path. 

Remembering the stricken expressions of the hobbits in the Green Dragon, I grit my teeth in shame. I should have followed Sam's example and just kept quiet — Ted Sandyman was harmless, really. He had just been talking, after all, and people would always talk… that couldn't be stopped. If anything, I had just given the whole of the hobbit community another reason to suspect that the occupants of Bag End were all senseless, devious fools. "Sandyman had that coming, Miss Jo," the Gamgee informed me tiredly as I steadied him with one arm — his ale had made him a bit tipsy. "His mouth's been running wild for the last year… He deserved a good thrashing, and no mistake." 

"I shouldn't have said that to him," I grumbled, passing the familiar fences and gardens of the Bagginses' neighbors. At the gate in front of Bag End we paused, and I gazed down at the Party fields, missing Bilbo. "Can you make it to your own hole from here?" I asked Sam. 

He nodded, wobbling on. I watched him go, sliding in through the gate and laboring unenthusiastically up the steps to Bag End's front door. I put my shoulder to the green, wooden surface, leaning back. The stars were beginning to show against the velvety, blue-black atmosphere, and I picked out my dear constellation Orion immediately. "Menelvagor," I remembered, thinking of his hobbit name. Smiling fondly, I pushed against the door to enter Frodo's _smial_. 

Everything was still and silent in the main hall. I released a deep sigh, the lock clicking behind me. "Frodo?" I ventured, sticking my head into his favorite study, listening hard. 

Voices, too faint to be understood, were coming from the kitchen, and they drew me into the dark parlor separating us. From there, I could hear someone saying, "… don't think you need to go alone. Not if you know of anyone you can trust, and who would agree to go by your side — and it would have to be someone that you would be willing to take into unknown perils." 

I stopped behind an armchair, the last rays of sunlight straining into the parlor through its one large window. After a moment, another someone spoke up from the next room. "Yes, that was a foolish idea. Except… what can be done with Jo? Certainly she cannot stay here, but to risk her life…" Plates and cups chinked together, and feet shuffled across the floor. The skin on my arms prickled at the mention of me. 

"You care for her," came the first voice softly, and I recognized its pebbly quality as Gandalf's. My heart began to race — Gandalf was here! 

"Of course I care for her," snorted the second voice, and it could only be Frodo's, "everyone does. How could one not?" 

"She is nearly as precious and dangerous as the Ring itself, Frodo. If you choose to travel with her, be wary… her knowledge could be destructive." 

Alone in the corridor leading into the kitchen, I shivered. Gandalf's fear of me gave me a sickening sense of power and control, something that I had no wish to take advantage of — not for use against Gandalf, at any rate. But what if word of the things I knew ever reached the enemy? Would I be chased from one end of Middle-earth to the other, just like the Ring? I pushed down the terror that climbed in my throat and decided to pretend that I had heard nothing. I called again, trying to steady the quivering word, "Frodo?" 

"In here, Jo." 

I found Frodo sitting at the single, low table of the cluttered kitchen, Gandalf the Grey alongside him. An unfinished supper was set around them, the fire burning low in the charred hearth. "All well, Jorryn?" Gandalf asked calmly. 

I frowned at Frodo's pale face and slumped shoulders. "I don't know… perhaps you should tell me." 

Neither of them answered; they shared a brief look and did not meet my gaze. It was then that I saw _It_ — the Ring, deposited on the center of the tabletop at which Gandalf and Frodo were seated. My breath escaped me, and the reflexive plea "Oh, help…" left with it. 

"We've got to leave," said Frodo haltingly, when he knew that I understood what was happening. "We can't stay at Bag End, Jo." 

"Where are we going to go?" I replied, uneasy, wrenching my eyes away from the tempting circle of gold at Frodo's fingertips. Why on earth had I wished for this time to come so soon? 

"There is a _smial_ at Crickhollow that I was planning on getting as a summer home," the hobbit said with a weak smile. "You told me your birthday was in March, and I was going to take you there then. It's in the country, a little past Bucklebury." 

I was bombarded all at once with a thousand feelings — love for Frodo's sweetness, fear for all of our lives, concern that I may change something — so my attempts to remember details from the books were a waste of time. I could only hope that this was all occurring like it was supposed to. "How… how soon do we have to go?" 

"Immediately," Gandalf answered, his voice dry and raspy like sandpaper, "and with as much stealth as possible." 

I sagged against the curved frame of the doorway, covering my face with my hands. From the whiff of pipe-weed that drifted in my direction I discerned that Gandalf had lit his pipe. 

"I assume you know how the Ring came into Frodo's hands," the wizard inquired. I peered from between my fingers. He had rested his elbows on his knees and was observing me sharply from under his bristling eyebrows. 

"I — yes, I do," I moaned, letting my hands drop. 

"The Enemy is moving," announced Gandalf stridently. "Agents of the Dark Lord could be entering the Shire even as we speak." He stood, but only halfway to his full height, and closed the distance between us, his head bent down to mine. "You must be strong, Jorryn — for all of us." 

I swallowed fiercely, trying not to be annoyed with Gandalf and all the pressure he was putting on me. I lifted my eyes and opened my mouth to answer him, but he was looking over my shoulder, abruptly motionless, like a cat stalking prey. Sensing the sudden charge of tension in the air, Frodo stiffened where he sat. I turned to follow Gandalf's stare and saw the branches of the front hedge, visible in the window of the sitting room, quiver. It was the tiniest of movements. The wizard glided by me and was across the parlor within a second. One arm shot down and out of the window in a speedy gray blur; it came back with a very flustered Samwise Gamgee. 

The wizard dropped the gardener heavily into the divan under the window. "Sam Gamgee, confound it all!" he roared. "What have you been doing?" 

Scrambling in the large pillows, Sam pulled out his shears and lifted them innocently. "Mr. — Mr. Gandalf, sir! I was just trimming the grass under the window there, sir, and getting some carrots for your horse, if — if you follow me, sir!" 

"I do not." Even bent nearly double, Gandalf was still an imposing figure, and he looked darkly at Sam. "How long have you been eavesdropping?" 

"I — haven't been dropping no eaves sir — begging your pardon — " He shot me a desperate, pleading look, holding his shears before him like a shield. 

"What have you _heard_, Samwise?" demanded Gandalf. 

"I meant no harm, Mr. Gandalf, sir!" cried the poor hobbit. "I heard a good deal that I didn't understand — a lot about enemies, and rings, and Mr. Bilbo and Miss Jo, and — and Elves, sir! I couldn't help it, sir, because I'd dearly love to meet the Elves — and I heard that Mr. Frodo and Miss Jo were going away — " 

"So you do know about that," said Gandalf with a grim exhalation of breath. 

"And it can't be helped, Sam," Frodo interjected. He came to stand beside me in the kitchen entryway, his brilliant blue eyes glimmering, fingers brushing mine. "You must keep it a secret for us. If you breathe a word, I'll let Gandalf turn you into whatever thing he wants. Jo and I have to get out of the Shire without anyone knowing." 

Gasping, Sam fell right off the couch, quaking all over. Gandalf picked him up, chuckling. "You needn't worry, Mr. Gamgee. I will not have to turn you into anything at all as long as you keep quiet." 

Sam gulped, shifting his weight. "Keep — keep quiet?" 

"Yes." 

"Right, then — I can do that well enough." The Gamgee pressed his lips together and nodded firmly. "You can all trust me, Mr. Gandalf — I won't say anything to anyone." 

"Good." 

I gaped in confusion, rummaging frantically through the memorized passages in my brain. "Wait," I heard myself exclaiming, thoughts bouncing crazily against the insides of my head. _Why didn't Gandalf order Sam to go with us?_ _Was it because I was already traveling with Frodo?_ This was all wrong — this could change everything! Who would go with Frodo to Mordor and rescue him from the Orcs there, if not Sam? Who would be present when the Ring-bearer urgently needed support? 

And it wasn't just the major things that would be affected — there could be countless other little factors influenced a million ways by the absence or addition of a single character. If Samwise did not come along with us now, the entire Story could be ruined. 

Frodo's inquisitive gaze was boring into the side of my skull, and it was all I could do to stop myself from saying _You'll thank me later_. Realizing that this was going to need some tact, I spoke imploringly to Gandalf. "Why doesn't Sam come with us, sir? Wouldn't that be better punishment than getting turned into a toad?" 

Amused, the wizard considered the idea, and to my overwhelming relief he did not notice that I was trying to change things back. "What do you think of this, Samwise?" asked Gandalf at last. "Would this punishment be acceptable to you?" 

Sam appeared to be on the verge of euphoric tears. "M — me, Mr. Gandalf, sir?" he stuttered, his skin going white. "Me, go away and — go and see the Elves? Oh, Miss Jo!" He rushed to me and enveloped me in a huge, overjoyed embrace, sobbing ecstatically into my shoulder. 

I allowed a few tired, grateful tears of my own to slide down my cheeks and into the rough brown fabric of Sam's jacket. This was going to be harder than I thought. 


	19. Leaving Bag End

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own any of Tolkien's characters or the world he created. The only character of mine (Jorryn) has decided to take a holiday in Tolkien's Middle-earth. No copyright infringement on any of J. R. R. Tolkien's works is intended. 

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** I would just like to extend my gratitude to the readers that have stayed with me thus far. I've been writing _Time Will Tell_ for over a year now, and you all have been incredible. Thank you very, very much. 

_1. _**Allyse** — Thank you for your review. :) I only ask that you be patient with both Jorryn and me. I would hate to have you "drop out." If you would be willing to E-mail me, I'd be happy to discuss upcoming chapters with you. As always, thank you for reading!

**EDITED: **June 9, 2003. Removal of one rather important line. :) 

**

18

**

Gandalf, thankfully, did not seem ready to flee the Shire the very next day, or even the next week, as was his usual manner. He stayed at Bag End for over a month, while Frodo hurried about the hole getting everything together for our departure. The hobbit reminded me strangely of Bilbo, who had busied himself similarly before their Party. While amusing, the resemblance was also eerie, especially when I noticed that Frodo had taken up the habit of fingering a certain Something in his pocket whenever he became nervous. 

I had very little to pack. There were clothes (my wardrobe still contained the hobbitish breeches and shirt that I had worn my first day in the _smial_), my journal, sketches, and my boots. I also tucked away the caricature of the two Bagginses that I'd drawn for Bilbo's birthday — the one that I had, annoyingly enough, forgotten to give him at the Party. I was determined to get the drawing to Rivendell so it could finally be presented to the old hobbit. 

And I didn't have to do much, either — Frodo and I got plenty of help with moving out. Merry and Pippin volunteered at once, of course, along with Fatty Bolger and Folco Boffin. Somewhere along the way it was decided that Pippin would travel with us from Hobbiton to Bucklebury Ferry, and Merry and Fatty Bolger planned to take a wagon off to Crickhollow with our luggage on the same day we were to set out. 

When Gandalf found that Pippin was to go with Frodo, he stopped me as we both passed each other stooped in the main hall one day. "Perhaps it would be better for you to ride with Meriadoc and Fredegar to Crickhollow, Jorryn." It was not a suggestion, but more like an order. He went on before I had a chance to refute him, "Samwise and Peregrin will be there for him, and it would be safer for everyone. I'm sure you understand." 

He towered above me, hands on his hips, flyaway strands of his bristly beard tickling my forehead. Naturally, I had some objections, but the thought of being hunted on the Road by Black Riders permitted me to concede to the wizard's idea. "All right, whatever's better." 

Gandalf put a heavy hand onto my shoulder in wordless thanks, and afterward I remembered that as the first time he had ever risked any contact with me whatsoever. He left me in the hall feeling lost and lonely, and struggling to remember how long it had taken Frodo, Sam, and Pippin to reach Crickhollow on foot. 

On the nineteenth day of March, Gandalf at last announced that he was departing the hole the next morning, saying that he wanted to get some news of the world. 

Frodo stopped on his way to the pantries, bundles of food tucked in his small arms. "Has anything happened?" he asked worriedly. 

I looked up from the book I was reading, and Gandalf shifted, his sharp gaze straying to me. "No, Frodo, but I have heard something that needs looking into. If I think that you need to leave sooner than anticipated, I will return or send word to you. For now, stick to your plan, and be more careful than ever. Do _not _use the Ring, Frodo." 

Frodo nodded, his face pale and grave as he shuffled off slowly, and Gandalf took a seat on the other side of the parlor to have his usual smoke. The atmosphere was so grim and clouded with the smell of pipe-weed that I couldn't concentrate on my book after that, so I put it away, smiling quickly at the wizard hunched in his chair, and decided to wander alone through the _smial_. 

Frodo had sold Bag End and most of its furnishings to the horrid Sackville-Bagginses, and at an unbearably low price. Everything that we couldn't stand to part with — books, clothing, paintings, a few smaller pieces of furniture, and personal things — had been packed into crates and bags, ready to be towed off. I still couldn't believe that we were leaving. 

I ran my hands across the bare wooden panels of the curved walls, my heart aching for the poor, almost-empty rooms along the corridors. Frodo's study had been cleaned out and only held his large desk and unfilled bookshelves, and Bilbo's favorite writing niche, adjacent to his old quarters, was vacant except for a dismal vase of drooping flowers. It had once been cluttered in every corner with manuscripts, antique texts, and loose parchment covered in Bilbo's spidery calligraphy. 

"Empty," I whispered to the gloom, stirring dust in the air. Tapping my fingers on the door, I sighed heavily. 

"I'm sorry about this, Jo." 

I turned to see Frodo behind me, hands in the pockets of his trousers, his expression morose. Dirt was smudged across his nose. His gaze was quickly sweeping the room that had once been Bilbo's, memories of past years making his already fatigued form sag. 

"No, Frodo, don't apologize," I replied earnestly. "None of this is your fault." 

He shook his head, frowning beyond me into the little office. "If only the Ring had never been found," he murmured quietly, "Bilbo might still be here, and we would have been able to live like everyone else." 

I didn't answer, fearing this particular subject. It would have been so easy to assure him that everything had happened for a reason, and that he was meant to have the Ring, but I didn't dare to do so. Closing my mouth tightly, I bit the inside of my bottom lip. 

"Bilbo would be just as sorry as I am about putting you through all this, Jo," he continued, and his eyes met mine. They were an astonishingly brilliant blue, riddled with a million emotions and thoughts, and it was a struggle to look away. He pursed his lips, obviously annoyed with himself. "You were dropped into a completely foreign home right from the beginning, and just when it's becoming familiar to you, we're dropping you somewhere else." 

Once again, I sighed, but this time it was with a small smile. I reached to straighten my friend's twill vest and gave the suspenders underneath it a playful snap. "Silly hobbit," I beamed, "you know I'd follow you to the end of the world and back if I could." 

"Well, I don't plan on going there, so you needn't worry," he snorted back. Picking up a large stack of Bilbo's old maps and documents from a desk, he jerked his dark head in the direction of the main hall. "Pippin and Merry are coming to stay with us until we've left — they should be here within the hour." 

"Right," I acknowledged softly, watching him move out of the room. He walked with his upper body leaned back slightly, to counter the weight of the papers he carried. His cheeks flushed from the exertion, and a lock of brown hair curled across the bridge of his short nose. 

_Urgh_, I thought, aggravated, _how can he manage to be so adorable while doing something so normal?_ And I said again, out loud, to myself, "… right." 

* * *

"We'll see you later, then, Frodo — the day after tomorrow, if you don't go to sleep on the way!" 

Merry waved to Frodo and Pippin from the front seat of our cart, Fredegar Bolger perched beside him. The wagon had, unsurprisingly, not been built for a Lady; hence, I was crammed awkwardly into the back of the wagon between crates and packages, my feet dangling off the back edge. I wiggled my fingers at the two hobbits standing on the porch of Bag End, and Pippin, a broad, impish grin playing with his lips, elbowed Frodo and whispered in his ear. The older Baggins reacted by giving him an appalled look and mischievously yanking his young cousin's patterned scarf up over his face. 

Mornings in the Shire were glorious, and I couldn't help kicking myself for missing so many of them just for a bit more sleep. Soon I stopped listening to the idle chatter of Fredegar and Merry behind my head, and instead turned my attention to the Shire. There were many hobbits already tending their gardens and fields beside the road and in front of their homes, and I was startled when a couple of them gave me a nod and a "Good morning to you, Miss Jo." 

_They start warming up to me just as I have to leave them_, I thought, rolling my eyes. 

Harmless thunderheads, rimmed with golden sunlight, were scattered across the atmosphere, and the breeze was cool and fresh against my cheeks and the soles of my bare feet. The cart was rattling past meadows and hobbit-holes that I would probably never see again, its wheels throwing up clouds of red soil. The colors of the landscape were dazzling, and the air was filled with the scent of flowers and the gentle swish of grass. I wished then that I had realized sooner how perfect Hobbiton and the Hill, which was now disappearing behind giant pine and sycamore trees, had been. Long after Bag End had slipped away from view, I sat stretching my neck over a crate, yearning for one last look. 

The wagon slowed at a crossroads, and I scooted forward to let my legs hang swinging. A group of children ran by, probably playing one of their games of hide-and-seek. The eldest of them, a young hobbit-girl I recognized from the Party as Autumn Chubb, one of many who had tried to get me to dance with Gandalf, stopped before me. She was dark and compact, her figure hidden by a loose-fitting yellow dress. "Are you leaving with Mr. Frodo, Lady Jorryn?" she piped up sweetly. 

I gave her a tiny, cheerless smirk. "Yes, Autumn." 

She tilted her head, brown hair spilling over one shoulder. "Will you ever return?" 

I withheld any immediate response, looking to the gracefully sloping hills surrounding Hobbiton. "I… don't think I will," I said, at length. 

"Oh," she said weakly. "You will both be missed, Lady." 

The wagon lurched into motion, and I just had time enough to smile genuinely. "Goodbye, Autumn," I called, "and thank you." 

We reached the East Road within two hours, and there Merry switched seats with Fatty so that he could rest his cramped fingers. Now that we were in the country, the horse could be held at a slow, steady canter. I was told that we would arrive at the next town, Frogmorton, in time for a midday meal. Once we had started up again, Merry turned around in his seat to speak with me. "All right down there, Jo?" 

"Peachy," I returned, hearing the gentle words above me. I took the hand he offered and pulled myself up onto a box of linens, facing him. "How about you?" 

His lips quirked lopsidedly. "Fine," he said, nodding. He dragged a hand through his reddish-blonde hair, giving me a view of his profile, and I giggled at his distinctly pug nose. After some time, he remarked, "I'm glad you're coming to live in Buckland — it'll be much easier for me to visit you and Frodo at Crickhollow." 

"That's a good thing," I agreed, and leaned closer to them both, pointedly speaking with a louder tone. "Where do _you_ live, Mr. Bolger?" 

Fredegar started at my question and replied nervously after a few hesitant seconds, "I live in Budgeford, a bit east of here, past Frogmorton and north of Whitfurrows…" He hunched over the reins clenched in his fists. I frowned at his stooped backside, and Merry only winked. I'd been told that Fatty had wanted to meet me at the Party, but ever since he had, he'd steered clear of me — and I didn't have any idea why. 

"I've told you again and again," whispered the Brandybuck, "you're terrifying." 

We had a lunch in Frogmorton, one that was extremely rushed when it came to hobbits, and were off again by one o'clock. Whitfurrows was next — after that, we would turn south to go through Stock, and then at last arrive at Bucklebury Ferry and Crickhollow. Merry and Fredegar would switch drivers at every stop. 

The Mountains were looming ever closer, appearing friendly and bright at first, but then darker, making the lush foothills at their feet cower in shadow. Gloomy gray clouds were their crowns, catching the last rays of the sunset. Sometimes, if I listened very hard, I thought I could hear the Water murmuring off the left side of the road, although Merry informed me that it was a couple of miles from us. It was most likely just my imagination. 

When evening came on and light started to fade from the sky, I got a blanket out from the luggage, covering myself so that I would look like just another bundle in the cart. I was honestly terrified of being out in the dark at that time. Black Riders — _Nazgûl _— the servants of Sauron — were actually in the Shire now, and they were probably watching the Road. The idea that a pair of _those eyes_ was on me made my skin crawl and burn cold with fear. Shuddering violently, I huddled down in the shadows of the crates. 

Still, in spite of everything, I was utterly disgusted with myself. I knew these actions were cowardly, for two innocent hobbits were sitting in the open right behind me, oblivious to the danger, while I hid like a baby. It was not a good way to start my journey, because I knew that I would eventually have to meet the Riders on Weathertop. 

"Oh, help," I whimpered under the blanket. 

But in the end, I convinced myself that I was doing my duty by keeping my mouth shut, just like Gandalf had ordered, and it was not my turn to face the creatures yet. _It's better that the hobbits don't know_, came a voice in my head, _they'd be even more scared than you are_. The rest of me instantly approved such a thought. 

I hadn't even appreciated the fact that I'd fallen asleep until I felt Merry shaking me lightly, the man-made flicker of a lantern shining harshly over me. The Brandybuck's lilting, singsong voice yanked me back to consciousness. "Jo, we've reached Crickhollow. It's a shame, too — you missed the Ferry and Brandy Hall." 

Exhausted, I shielded my face and muttered, "What _time _is it?" 

I saw his shoulders bob flippantly. "Around midnight. The beds are already inside, Jo — they've been here for a week or so — you can go and pick one out. Fatty and I will unload the cart." 

I woke myself up enough to stagger around the wagon to find the door of the hole. It was stiflingly dark both outside and inside, a thick hedge and a ring of trees surrounding the place. I could understand why Frodo had chosen Crickhollow; it was a good distance from the roads, back where no one would disturb us. 

The _smial _itself was much like Bag End. It was equipped with round windows, fireplaces, doorways, and corridors, just like any other hobbit-hole, but thankfully this one had ceilings that were a bit higher than what I was used to. I stopped in the wide entrance hall, taking in the unfamiliarity of everything, hating it at once. It looked like this home had never been lived in. We would have to work hard all day tomorrow in order to get everything cleaned up and put in its proper place. 

I took another step into the passage, which ran down the middle of the hole. The floor was not the lovely wooden parquetry that had been at Bag End — it was cold flagstones. The windows were small and seemed to have been made to let in only the smallest amount of air or light as possible. There were no stylish hanging candelabrums, just dull candles sitting on little ledges. It was a sad, dreary place. 

Frowning, I walked through it, and found the bedchambers along one miserable corridor. The largest rooms, though not much better than the one I chose, I left to Sam and Frodo. We would not be here long, anyway. I dumped my little bag of possessions onto a table near the doorway, taking out the shirt and pants that had used to belong to Frodo. I changed into them and slid into bed, shutting my eyes securely against the darkness and gloom that was Crickhollow, and tried to think of a warm fire at Bag End. 


	20. The Conspiracy

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own any of Tolkien's characters or the world he created. The only character of mine (Jorryn) has decided to take a holiday in Tolkien's Middle-earth. No copyright infringement on any of J. R. R. Tolkien's works is intended.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Sorry for the delay, everyone! I'm getting this out just in time for Bilbo and Frodo's birthday today — the 22nd of September! Frodo learns of the conspiracy, and decisions are made…

**19**

"Where _could_ they have gotten to?"

Two days had passed since the morning Merry, Fatty, and I had set out from Bag End. My dear Brandybuck was pacing the flagged stones that made up the floor of Crickhollow's main parlor, face tilted toward his furry toes. The room was cold, and outside the night was stifled with threatening fog. I had been dully watching the flicker of flames in the fireplace before me, but at my friend's words, I looked up.

"They must have been delayed," I ventured, thinking of the Frodo and the others' short cut to mushrooms. We had expected the travelers to arrive at Crickhollow late in the evening, yet that time had passed and it was now nearing midnight. My eyes followed Merry's apprehensive, stooped form.

"Hobbits never travel quickly, Jo — everyone knows that," he replied, halting briefly to face me, giving me a weak smile. "But it's getting dreadfully late."

I shrugged. "They'll be here, Merry, don't worry."

His lips twitched in a slight frown, and he resumed his pacing.

Shifting back to the fire, I heard the faint chink of china in the adjoining kitchen. Fredegar, avoiding me as usual, had found an excuse to leave the room and was making tea. Crickhollow was silent except for the soft rustlings of its three occupants. Yesterday had been spent arranging the house so it was decorated just like Bag End; but it was awkward, and I didn't like it at all. The Bagginses' belongings were in a completely alien and unwelcoming setting.

Fatty and Merry had gone out yesterday to meet one last cart of things that had been shipped to Crickhollow from Hobbiton, and we had done our best to fit them in with everything else. There were strange Dwarven pieces of furniture made from a silvery wood, and odd pieces of clothing, and crinkled, yellow documents bound in decayed leather. These were from the Shire Mathom-house, Meriadoc had told me.

The hours preceding the current one had been monotonous and unbearably quiet. I had sat for a long time in my mostly empty room, trying to prepare myself for what would soon be upon me. After that I had resorted to nervously walking around and around my bed, which was exhausting and had compelled me seek out the warmth of the fireplace in the sitting room, where Merry was behaving just as uneasily as I had.

It was then that the worried hobbit let his clasped hands drop from behind his back, and he resolutely tugged on the bottom hem of his bright orange vest. "I… think I'll go out and meet them at the Ferry, Jo."

"There's a nasty fog out there," warned Fatty in his low, gruff voice, coming from the kitchen with a tray of steaming teacups. "It'd do you well to wrap yourself in a scarf, Meriadoc. The Lady and I will stay behind to fix up the rooms and baths."

The Brandybuck nodded and slipped into the hall, coming back a moment later wearing a thick brown coat, a knitted scarf swathed around his neck. "I'll be back soon," he declared promptly, pulling the wrap over his chin after quirking a lopsided grin in my direction. He waved to Fredegar and disappeared. The click of the door locking behind him announced his departure.

Fatty set down his tray with a sigh. "I'll warm water for the tubs, Milady," he said to me, never meeting my gaze. "Can you get the fires going in the bedchambers?"

"Yeah, sure," I replied reflexively.

We both set ourselves to the task of readying Crickhollow for its new owner. I made the beds in Frodo's, Sam's, and Pippin's rooms and built up healthy, glowing flames in their fireplaces. On my way to the kitchen afterward, I lit all the candles in the low corridors, and then began setting out food for dinner on one of the squat cooking tables. Fredegar brought a cask of ale from one of the pantries.

Suddenly, the front door thumped open loudly, and Meriadoc bustled into the room, jerking his scarf from around his head. His cheeks were flushed from the cold, and under his arm was a large basket. "The others are fine and on their way," he said, breathing heavily. "Farmer Maggot found them taking a short cut through his fields, and his dear wife sent us mushrooms! I rode ahead to see that everything was ready."

"Just working on dinner," heaved Fatty, and he put the ale-barrel down, grunting.

"Good, good," the Brandybuck approved. He stripped his coat off his arms and shook bright hair out of his eyes.

I shifted, still standing at the table, my fingers tightening around a carrot. "Why did they take so long to get here?"

"It's odd that you should ask, Jo," answered Merry distractedly, stealing a bite of a mushroom. "There was something at the Ferry behind us, on the gangway; a big black sort of thing that sniffed along the ground. It seemed to scare the others, but Frodo only said that it had been following them. He told me to ask you about it."

Biting my lower lip, I twiddled with the carrot in my hand. Neither Frodo nor Gandalf would have told anyone about how much I knew regarding the future, would they? I had to assume that Merry didn't know what Frodo had been talking about, so "Huh," was all I said by way of a reply.

"Jo?" the Brandybuck persisted. Now he was staring at me, his dark eyes questioning.

"I'll have to talk to him about it," I muttered.

From the front of the house came a polite knock on the door, and Fredegar immediately moved to open it. When Fatty had passed into the neighboring hallway, Merry frowned at me and asked more determinedly, "What's going on, Jo?"

"I hope that we all find out soon, Merry," I said softly.

I could just make out Frodo's voice amid the muffled gurgling of bathwater and crackling of firewood in other parts of the house, and by the time I reached the front door with Merry, my heart was aching for his face and smile. He, Pippin, and Sam were standing tiredly on the threshold, their curls matted down in their soiled faces, backs bent with fatigue. But despite their obvious weariness, they all beamed when we came up. Frodo's grin was halfhearted, yet it still somehow managed to be unbelievably endearing.

"Hullo, Jo!" exclaimed Pip pleasantly. "Made yourself at home, have you?"

"Hey, you guys," I greeted. "I've missed you!"

"What do you think of it, Frodo?" asked Merry proudly. "We've done our best to make it look like home, with the time we had. After all, we just got the last cart-load yesterday."

The Baggins looked around, his shining eyes catching the candlelight. He allowed his heavy pack to slide from his back and fall to the ground. "It is… delightful, Merry," he responded at last, without much enthusiasm. "I hardly feel that I've moved at all. Thank you very much."

Merry, Pip, and Sam shared three furtive glances.

"Well," the Brandybuck continued, coughing loudly, "we'd better get on with dinner. You three come with me, now."

The travelers left their cloaks and bundles beside the front door and trooped down the passage to the room where I knew the tubs had been situated, and a few seconds later Pippin's sweetly-pitched, lilting voice traveled back to us. "A bath! Oh, blessed Meriadoc!"

I had never liked mushrooms — to me it wasn't right to eat any sort of fungus. But the hobbits seemed to consider them a delicacy, and I dutifully helped Merry and Fredegar as well I could to prepare them for our late supper. They showed me how they wanted them cut, what amounts to mix with certain vegetables, and so on. In addition to mushrooms, I also hated cooking, for somehow I always managed to botch up even the simplest of recipes. So, warning them about my lack of catering talent, I let Merry and Fredegar do most of the work and instead did easier things, like running to various pantries for needed ingredients.

On my way back to the kitchen with a bag of potatoes, I went by the bath room, where the three newly arrived hobbits were splashing and singing loudly. As I passed, the door opened, and Frodo appeared toweling his stringy wet hair. Water trailed into his sparkling eyes, and he shot me a grin.

"Pip's making it very difficult to dry off," he informed me, and behind the door of the bathroom there was a great splatter and a gargled cry from Samwise. I was tempted to look inside, but a momentary glance at the waterlogged floor was enough for me.

Unable to stop myself, I said softly, "Fool of a Took," and smiled at Frodo, hefting the bag in my arms. "I'm really glad you are all back. Ready to eat?"

"Yes, I'm famished. Our meals have been rather rushed lately."

"I'll bet." We ducked into the parlor, and Merry passed us going in the opposite direction.

"You'd better not be pilfering any of my mushrooms," Frodo warned the younger hobbit.

"Of course not, dear cousin," said Merry, talking around a bite of something in his mouth.

"Too late," I quipped. Frodo laughed, giving his head a shake. Water droplets sprayed the front of my dress.

"Jo," the Baggins said suddenly, and I turned more directly toward him, having to stoop under a doorway. His lips tipped quickly and fingers brushed against the back of my hand. "Jo… I'm glad Gandalf suggested that you come here with Merry. There was someone — something following us on the Road."

_I know_! came a horrified voice in my head, the images of huge Black Riders filing my mind, but I only tightened my grip on the lumpy sack I held. My throat constricted, and Frodo went on, "Well, it was a group of things, really. We never got a good look at them."

"Oh, goodness," I said cautiously, putting my shoulder to the ceiling. "I'm… sorry. None of you were hurt, were you?"

The hobbit shivered, ridding himself of a memory. "No, fortunately. But I have a feeling that we should — " He broke off abruptly, changing his mind. "We should probably go and eat now. How are the mushrooms coming?"

Fredegar had the table set, and before long the hobbits had all appeared, Pippin and Sam still dripping. Even though our meal was large and there was plenty for everybody, the hobbits fought over Maggot's mushrooms until every one had been claimed. Talk was limited to comments about the weather or things needing done in the house, yet the conversation was heavy, and I sat silently waiting for the conspirators to voice what they knew. The fire I had lit over an hour ago was still burning merrily, and after everyone had finished eating, chairs were pulled around the glowing hearth, and pipes were brought out.

I picked up my plate, but Merry stopped me. "We'll clean up in a bit," he said. "I want to know all about what happened with Frodo and the others. They've been off having adventures, which wasn't fair to you or me, Jo."

"Be glad that you were safe in a warm house and not out sleeping on cold earth," Pippin snorted, draining his cup with a single swallow. He propped his hairy feet up on the pile of firewood near the flames, his face twisting into a brief, pained grimace.

"Tell us what the matter with old Maggot was tonight," Meriadoc prompted, scooting his chair in closer to the others. I remained standing behind Sam, who was bent over the drink clutched at his chest, dark eyes shining under his curls. Merry looked inquisitively at his distracted friend. "Frodo? Farmer Maggot sounded almost scared, if that's possible."

"We've all been scared, and you would have been, too, if you'd spent two days dodging Black Riders," answered Pip, while Frodo said nothing. The Baggins was staring into the snapping fire.

Merry's gaze flicked fleetingly up to me. "Black Riders?"

"Black riders on black horses." A log in the fireplace crackled and fizzed, and Pippin frowned in exasperation. "Well, if Frodo won't talk, I'll just tell you the whole thing from the beginning."

I was captivated by his account of first seeing the pursuing Rider on the Road, meeting Elves, and staying with Farmer Maggot. Sam added a few remarks and told how he'd heard a Rider questioning the Gaffer, his father, right before they'd left Bag End. And all through the tale Frodo kept quiet, never interrupting to correct something his friends said, never offering the slightest exclamation. It was strange behavior for any hobbit.

"I'd think you were making it all up," said Merry when they had finished, "if I had not seen that black shape on the dock or talked to Farmer Maggot." He shifted pointedly toward the young Baggins. "What do you think of it, Frodo?"

Only Frodo's eyes moved; a swift movement, and his stare rooted me to the spot. Pippin didn't notice, and he said, "Frodo has been very secretive, but the time has come for him to open up. So far we have been given nothing more to go on than Maggot's guess that it has something to do with Bilbo's treasure."

Frodo's tone was sharp and hasty. "That was only a guess, Pippin. Maggot doesn't _know_ anything for certain."

"Farmer Maggot is a shrewd old hobbit. You could at least tell us whether or not you think his guess is good or bad, Frodo." Merry raised his eyebrows challengingly.

"I… think… that it was a good guess, as far as it goes," replied Frodo carefully, swallowing with difficulty. "There _is_ a connection with Bilbo's old adventures, and I think the Riders are looking for him or… or for me. And I have a feeling that it isn't a joke, and that I am not safe here or anywhere else."

In the ensuing silence, Pippin whispered loudly to Merry, "I think we're about to have it all." I frowned curiously at them.

"At any rate…" sighed Frodo, his lips pulled into a tight, thin line. He let his hands fall atop his knees, and he seemed to come to a conclusion. "I can't keep it secret any longer. I've got something to tell you all, but I'm not sure quite how I should begin."

Merry cleared his throat. "I think I could help you a bit."

Looking at the hobbits around him uneasily, Frodo blanched. "What do you mean?"

"Only this, my dear Baggins," said Merry with a slight smile. "You are miserable, because you don't know how you can ever say goodbye to us and the Shire. You've been planning on leaving for some time, now. But you don't want to."

Frodo gaped at the Brandybuck, and Pippin laughed. "Frodo!" he said. "Did you really think you had us fooled? You have not been nearly careful enough." The Baggins's shoulders slumped a little, and Pip thumped him on the back. "You've been saying farewells to everything — your home, the countryside, your belongings — since April. We knew something was up."

"And here I had thought that I'd been too careful," muttered Frodo worriedly. "Does everyone in the Shire know?"

"No, of course not!" said Meriadoc dismissively, waving a hand. "We know you the best. We can usually guess what you are thinking. It was no use trying to keep it from us."

"We've been watching you closely since Bilbo left," said Pippin, and I imagined him spying on Bag End from a treetop, binoculars in hand. "We thought you'd go sooner, actually. We were worried you planned to do what Bilbo did, slipping away in secret. We didn't want you running off on your own."

"Gandalf would have made sure I wouldn't," Frodo said with a weak smile. "But I have to go. It can't be helped, so it's no use for you to try and stop me. I have to get out of the Shire, and Jo and Sam are coming with me."

"You don't understand, Frodo!" said Peregrin. "We know you must go… so we must, too. Merry and I are going with you. You need more than just Jo and Sam, pleasant companions though they may be."

Placing my hands on my hips, I sniffed teasingly. "I beg your pardon, but what is that supposed to mean?"

"That you are not enough," said Pippin in a blunt and terse tone, but he winked at me.

Frodo choked on an astonished gasp. "Merry, Pippin — I — I could not allow it. You don't understand. This isn't an afternoon outing or a visit to friends— I am flying from deadly peril into deadly peril."

"Of course we understand," said Merry, sounding a bit injured. "That is why we have decided to come. We know that the Ring isn't a laughing matter, and we will do our best to help you against the Enemy."

"The Ring!" said Frodo and I simultaneously; he because he was surprised they knew, and I because the very mention of it made my skin crawl.

"Yes, the Ring," answered Merry, folding his hands patiently. "I have known about that since before Bilbo went away. I saw him vanish several times in order to avoid the Sackville-Bagginses. There he'd be, walking down the road, and then I'd look again and he was gone."

The Baggins drooped in his chair, flabbergasted, and Merry twiddled his thumbs. "Bilbo obviously regarded it as secret, so I kept it to myself until our conspiracy was formed. He was more careful than you have been, but not careful enough. And after that, I just kept my eyes open."

Frodo sighed, his face slack, and then he straightened as he realized something. "Merry, you could not have found out so much just from keeping your eyes open. You're in Buckland or with Pip most of the time. How — "

"You wish to be introduced to our chief investigator, then?" interrupted Meriadoc, bouncing his legs up and down cheerfully. "I can produce him for you, right here and now."

"Who is it?" demanded Frodo, glaring around the room.

"Stand up, Samwise!" Pippin sang, and the Gamgee lifted his reddened face toward his master's, the soiled hands around his mug tightening. I grinned at the back of his sandy-colored head, and Frodo cried dully, "Sam!"

Sam was sheepish. "Begging your pardon, Mr. Frodo, but I didn't mean any harm to you or Miss Jo — nor to Mr. Gandalf — any at all. Mr. Gandalf said to take someone along that you trust, sir."

"Yes, but who can I trust?"

"Us," I said firmly, and they all turned to me. It was the first time I'd had them all looking at me at once since before we'd left Bag End, and I nearly faltered under their discerning stares. Firelight danced on their young countenances.

"That, dear Jo, is a given," said Merry, nodding. "You can trust us to stick with you, right to the bitter end, Frodo. We will keep any secrets of yours — closer than you can keep them to yourself. We are your friends, and we won't let you go against trouble alone. We are going with you, or else following you like hounds."

"I give in, friends," Frodo said, lifting his hands in defeat. "I had dreaded this evening, but I can't help feeling happy now."

"Three cheers for Captain Frodo and company!" shouted Pippin, leaping up from his chair and grabbing for my hands. He spun me around Sam and Frodo in their chairs, and the others laughed.

"We have to prepare before we go to bed," said Frodo. "I think we should start before daybreak."

It was already late, and I stifled a sudden yawn.

"How lovely," said Pip in distaste, "to be back on the Road again so soon."

"It isn't all that bad, Peregrin," Frodo said. "I fear those Black Riders, and I'm sure it's unsafe to stay in any one place for long, especially in a place where it was known I was going. But I do wish Gandalf would show up. I wonder — how soon could the Riders get to Bucklebury? And how soon could we get off?"

"I'm not sure about the Riders, but we could leave within an hour," responded Merry. "We've prepared practically everything — ponies, stores, tackle — so we need only some extra clothing and food."

"Do you think it would be safe to wait one day for Gandalf?"

At this, I stood rigid. I wanted to leave right _then_, never mind getting food or clothes. The Ringwraiths were already riding directly at Frodo's heels, and one would have to be insane to delay an escape.

"It depends on what you think the Riders would do if they found you," Merry said lightly. "They could have been here by now, if they weren't stopped at the North-gate, where the Hedge runs along the riverbank. They might have broken through when they weren't allowed, and I'm sure they weren't."

I could not believe what I was hearing. "They could have been at Crickhollow _now_, and we are still here?" I peeped. Why on earth would Frodo even consider waiting an _hour_?

"We'll be all right," he said, thinking hard for a second. "We will start out tomorrow, as soon as it is light, and we'll stay off the road. We still don't know how many Riders there are, and the bridges and gates will all be watched. The only thing to do is to go off in an unexpected direction."

Fredegar, who had been resting silently over his ale, unexpectedly spoke up, his mouth open in horror. "But that can only mean going into the Old Forest! You can't be thinking of doing that. The Forest is quite as dangerous as any Black Rider!"

"Not quite," said Merry. Pursing his lips, he drew out his pipe, peering at his older friend. "It's the only way to gain a good start on the Riders."

"You'll get lost," balked Fatty. "People don't go _in_ there — "

"The Brandybucks do! We have a private entrance, and I have been inside several times… in daylight, of course."

"Well, I suppose I'm not going on the journey, so don't pay any mind to what I say." The fat hobbit slid back in his seat, stretching his short legs and propping his mug on his round stomach. "Do what you think is best."

I was immensely relieved that Fredegar had made the decision to stay behind, for I was tired of having to be cordial to him. He would keep Crickhollow instead of us and wait (in vain, I knew) for Gandalf. I wondered for a little while whatever would become of him — I couldn't remember if he appeared later in the story.

"On the whole I would rather have our job than Fatty's," said Pippin. "Waiting here for the Black Riders would make me crack."

"Just you wait until you are well inside the Forest," Fredegar simpered, thinking he knew what he was talking about. "You'll wish you were back here with me before this time tomorrow."

"It's no good arguing about it," Merry said. "We've still got to tidy up and finish packing before bed."

As everyone disappeared to other parts of the house, I asked Frodo loudly, "Can I do anything to help, Frodo?"

"You can clean up the table, if you'd like," smiled the hobbit, his fingers drumming a rhythm on his bent knees. "But then you should get some rest. I will tell the others to be quiet so you can sleep." Pippin had burst into a shrill, raucous tune just before leaving the room, and the discordant melody traveled back to us in the kitchen long after he had gone. I could hear Merry yelling at him to shut up.

"All right," I said, turning to the cluttered table where we had eaten earlier that evening. I began to stack plates, bowls, and silverware, but I felt Frodo's gaze still on me, and I pivoted to meet him. "What — am I doing it wrong, Master Baggins?"

At first he said nothing, his eyes searching mine, and then he inclined his head slightly. He positioned himself behind the chair where he'd been sitting and folded his hands at his waist, fingertips touching the curved wooden surface. His lips quirked. "I'm glad you're coming with me, Jo."

"So am I," I agreed warmly, balancing a pile of dishes.

He quietly exhaled, looking down at the floor absentmindedly, and he moved the chair before him over to the table. "Well… good night, Jo," he bade, at length, reaching up to unbutton his vest. He gave me one last smile before meandering away.

"Good night, Frodo."


	21. Through the Old Forest

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own any of Tolkien's characters or the world he created. The only character of mine (Jorryn) has decided to take a holiday in Tolkien's Middle-earth. No copyright infringement on any of J. R. R. Tolkien's works is intended. Bombadil and Goldberry belong to Tolkien, not me! 

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** A huge thank-you to all of my readers that keep with me and continue to urge me on. I would like to also thank the **Protectors of the Plot Continuum** for their very nice review of _Time Will Tell_ ( ), which I discovered recently. It is much appreciated. In addition, the weather has matched that of this chapter perfectly, so I was inspired to write most of it during the week. :) Enjoy! 

**EDITED**: March 12, 2004, to correct the location of Tom Bombadil's home. :)

**

20

**

I could not sleep for several hours. Crickhollow was cold and dark, and I was unable to think of anything except the Ringwraiths coming closer to finding us with each passing minute. Lying on my back, I stared up at the dim ceiling and squeezed my eyes tightly shut whenever a faint shadow played across the walls of my room. I had just begun to doze when I felt a presence at the end of my short bed. 

Merry Brandybuck tickled the soles of my bare feet, the weak flicker of a candle falling across my blankets. "Jo," he whispered loudly, and I groggily lifted my head. "Jo, it's time to get up. You need only get dressed." 

"What time is it?" I gargled, squinting at him. 

"A quarter past four. It's very foggy, so wear your cloak." 

He slipped out of the room as I shoved back my blankets, my old dread rushing back to me all at once. I didn't bother to change my clothes — Frodo's breeches and baggy shirt were the only acceptable traveling garments I owned, and I was not about to go flouncing through the Old Forest in a gown. Bidding a succinct farewell to my room, I padded out into the lightless main hallway, Dwarven boots and thin robe tucked into the crook of my arm. I saw Sam at the end of the hall, standing before the door, a large pack strapped to his broad hobbit shoulders. 

"Are you awake, Miss Jo?" he inquired worriedly, extending his hand to me when I reached him. "There's no time for breakfast." 

"I'm awake, Sam," I assured, swinging my cloak over my head. Thinking first of my drawings, journal, and other knickknacks, I asked, "Where are my things?" 

"They've been packed away in your bags," said Sam. He watched me slide to the ground to yank on my thick shoes, a small, patient smile tugging at his lips. Beyond him, the open door gave me a dark view of the front yard, where the early morning sunlight filtered down through the fog as a bluish-gray glow. And there on the lawn were the four other hobbits — Pippin, Frodo, Merry, and Fredegar — all sitting hunched and shivering atop their short ponies laden with baggage. 

My teeth were already chattering by the time I had made it across the lawn and struggled stiffly into my saddle. The other hobbits laughed gently at my obvious discomfort, their breaths turning to vapor right out of their lips. 

"Doesn't she look ready for an adventure?" teased Pippin. His upturned nose had colored to a faint pink, and his cheeks were flushing in the cold. 

I managed a weak reply, "I'm as ready as I'll ever be." 

Frodo turned his pony about. "Let's be off, then," he ordered stolidly, and we started into the mist, leaving Crickhollow behind without another backward glance. 

I don't remember exactly how long it took us to reach the Hedge, only that it was a good length of time drawn out by the noiseless cold. The fog closed out the rest of the world and put a damper on our moods, so we trundled on in silence. There was no other sound except for the far-off shuffling of someone waking early to do his chores, or the rustling of the concealed vegetation on either side of us. The road was damp, and the long grasses glistened with icy dew. 

Quite abruptly, we came upon the Hedge. It was a tall, black obstruction dripping with moisture and covered in gleaming spiderwebs, thick and daunting. It stirred in a breeze as we approached, and Fredegar coughed. "How are you going to get through all of this?" 

"Follow me, and you shall see," replied Meriadoc, pushing back the hood of his cloak. He slipped off his pony and led us all along the left of the Hedge, until we came to a hollow where the earth suddenly sloped downward. Here, the ground had been neatly dug away to form a bricked tunnel running under the Hedge and up to the other side. I stared into the darkness of the entrance to the Forest, feeling very apprehensive. 

Fatty wasted no time. With an unsuccessfully suppressed yawn, he said, "Goodbye, Frodo. I wish you all were not going into the Forest, and I only hope you will not need to be rescued before the day is done. Good luck to you — today and every day." 

Peering into the gloom beside me, Frodo did not turn toward his friend, his expression tight. "If there are no worse things ahead of me than the Old Forest, I will be lucky." I glimpsed a spark in his eyes, and he went on, "When Gandalf comes, tell him to hurry down the East Road, for we will be on it again soon and traveling as fast as possible." 

"Goodbye, Fredegar," we said, and our ponies bore us down under the Hedge. 

I began shivering as soon as we were in the shadows of the passageway. The ceiling of the tunnel had not been made, as so many other things of the Shire, to allow a human girl, and I had to lean forward over my mount's head to avoid hitting the roots protruding from the dirt above us. At the end of the tunnel was a gate made of twisted iron bars, moss drooping from its ancient frame; Merry unlocked it. We rose again into the dull sunlight, and the gateway was immediately closed and secured behind us with a shrill clang. I blinked at the expanse of trees surrounding our group, wondering what Fredegar was thinking as he headed back to the dull safety of Crickhollow. 

"There you go!" cried Meriadoc, climbing onto his pony again. "The Shire is behind us, and we are now outside, at the edge of the Old Forest." 

It reminded me very much of when I had gotten lost in the woods of Overhill, the day the hobbits and I had played a fateful game of hide-and-seek. Through the tendrils of fog curling about trunks and leaves, the forest seemed to leer at us, the damp ground practically seething with scorn. It was all I could do to stop myself from looking away. The trees obviously didn't like us. 

"Are the stories about it true?" asked Pippin interestedly, his thin lips parted slightly in wonder. 

Merry, sniffling, narrowed his eyes up at the faint outlines of waving branches just visible through the fog. "If you mean the old stories that parents tell to their children, about ghosts and wolves and goblins, then of course not. _I _don't believe them, at any rate, though I do admit that the Forest is queer. The trees do not like strangers — they watch you, but that's usually all they do. I've heard it's particularly frightening during the nighttime, but I've only been in a couple of times after dark. It seemed to me that the trees were whispering to each other, and they moved and swayed without a wind. Once, long ago, they attacked the Hedge, and hobbits cut them down and had a great bonfire. After that, the trees became permanently unfriendly." 

Shifting in his saddle, Pippin frowned warily. "Is it only the trees that are dangerous?" 

"It's queer," repeated Merry. "I've never seen anything, but I do know that something makes paths. There was one I know of that led right to the Bonfire Glade, and that's the one I'm going to try and find." 

We rode a little way into the twisted foliage, where nothing could be seen except for countless tree trunks overgrown by moss and fern. Behind me, the Hedge was a mere silhouette against the ashen atmosphere. 

"You'd better hurry and find that path," Frodo ordered Merry. "Don't let us lose one another, or forget which way the Hedge lies." 

The ponies chose a careful way through the underbrush, and I half expected some root to come shooting out of the earth reaching for my ankles. Merry had not yet found the trail he remembered. We were making our way up sloping ground, our progress slowed by the unyielding trees, the early morning light barely making its way down to us through the boughs. I began to feel that the forest was pushing us on and hemming us in; we could neither go back nor forward. There were only the trees, watching and loathing us, dripping dew on our heads, catching at our cloaks with their limbs. 

I jumped at Pippin's voice, which unexpectedly broke through the thick air. It was the only sound anyone had heard in a long while. "For goodness sake! I am not doing to _do _anything! Just let us pass through, will you?" 

I froze, waiting anxiously for an answer, though I knew none would come. I had argued with a forest very much like this one before. Merry whispered, "I wouldn't shout if I were you — it does more harm than good." 

"What more harm can I cause? It has not taken you long to lose us," replied Pippin hotly. 

"I have not lost anything," said Merry, who had been staring intently at the ground. Relief washed over his features as his gaze caught something recognizable. "These trees shift, Peregrin, which is why I was confused. There's the Bonfire Glade, right in front of you!" 

I glared very hard between the trunks, and sure enough, the Forest gave way quickly before us to a wide clearing under a surprisingly fine blue sky. Brown, wiry grass was the only plant I could see in the open circle, if I overlooked the spindly weeds and briars crunching under my pony's hooves. We made our way across the Glade to the wide path on the other side, which ran a long way into the woods with few visible obstacles. Sunlight filtered down more easily here, making the air warm and humid. 

The ponies moved with definite hope on the broader path, however it was not long before the trail narrowed yet again, and I could feel the Forest's malicious determination pressing down upon me even more than before. 

Sam had not said anything all morning; I glanced back at him and saw that his face was white and his shoulders were stooped. He had probably never thought that a group of plants had the audacity to be so unpleasant. 

Frodo was riding idly beside me, his dirtied hands playing with the reins in his lap. His profile was faint in the dusky sunlight, but I could see his lips moving slightly, and a soft song reached my ears. 

"_Oh, wanderers in the shadowed land _

_ despair not! For though dark they stand _

_ all woods there be must end at last, _

_ and see the open sun go past: _

_ the setting sun, the rising sun, _

_ the day's end, or the day begun. _

_ For east or west all woods must fail­ _— " 

His head jerking up, Frodo stopped his song hastily, realizing too late what he had been saying. Without warning, a large, heavy tree bough came crashing down directly behind me, and a twig snapped off across my back like a smoothly cracked whip. 

"Ouch!" was all I could say through my clenched teeth, and Frodo reached back to take my fingers between his, muttering an embarrassed apology. The other hobbits paused briefly to make sure I wasn't hurt too terribly. 

"Oh, dear," hissed Pippin, checking for tears in my cape. "Look at what your confounded song did, Frodo!" 

"I don't reckon they like all that about ending and failing," said Merry broodingly. "You probably shouldn't sing any more right now, Frodo… wait until we come to the edge of the Forest, and then we'll give them a rousing chorus." 

We did not rest long. I told the hobbits that I could still sit well enough on a horse and that we didn't need to stop, so we were climbing again within a minute. My back would sting for a while, but I would be fine. 

Nonetheless, I thought to myself irritably, _Jolly good_. W_e're lost, and now my back hurts._ _Where's Tom Bombadil when you need him?_

I noticed long after the others that we were cresting some sort of knoll, which emerged from the trees and continued up a sharp hill, one that would probably afford a good view. The others were urging their ponies forward, so I followed hurriedly behind, until we reached the hilltop and dismounted. 

What I could see of the surrounding lands was little — haze still hung over hollows and between the feet of nearby hills, and the sunlight was flashing directly into my eyes. I wished that I could see the Mountains, where so many other things must have been happening then. 

Merry was pointing toward a deep, foggy vale. "That's the line of the Withywindle. It comes down out of the Downs and flows southwest through the Forest to join the Brandywine. We don't want to go that way… the Withywindle valley is supposed to be the queerest part of the entire wood." 

I watched the shrouded Barrow-downs for a few seconds, mists winding across the landscape, the fact that I was still uncertain as to what I should do when up against Barrow-wights shoving itself to the front of my mind. We would meet one soon, I knew, and my only encouragement was that it would not be as bad as coming across several Black Riders at once. 

"It's time for midday meal, I'd say," said Frodo at last, and we lunched with our backs to the Downs. 

* * *

When we started away again, we found ourselves forced strangely to the right, in the direction of the Withywindle. 

We could hardly begin to proceed in the direction of the East Road. There were deep trenches of long-forgotten roads, filled with brambles and debris, that could only be climbed in and out of. No matter how much we resisted the Forest, it always grew thicker wherever we needed to go left and gave way when we moved right. After a long struggle Merry had forgotten from which way we had come and was no longer guiding us. We followed the only path the Forest allowed: down and to the right. 

"Why will it not let us go?" Sam murmured to me, and I had no answer. 

The Forest pushed us down the length of a small brook entrenched in one of the old road-ditches. We were scrambling downhill, bending under low branches, searching for a break in the wood's resistance. At length we halted, and I saw that we were at the edge of a gap in a steep river shore. 

"Well, now I at least have an idea of where we are!" cried Merry. "We have gone in the opposite direction of what we intended. This is the River Withywindle." 

The valley was full of willows growing at the bank of the murky, sinuous Withywindle. Small yellow and orange willow-leaves fluttered about on the gentle wind, and reeds were singing amid the grasses. The air was warm and balmy. 

Merry took us down an odd footpath running through the expansive meadows. At times the reeds were so tall that I was the only one able to see over them, although there wasn't much to look at. The willow-branches stirred, and I got the distinct impression that their long arms were reaching for us. I began to walk more slowly, hastily readying myself for their spell. _You won't take me_, I challenged inwardly. 

"The flies are horrid, aren't they?" remarked Pippin absentmindedly, waving his hand to rid the pests from his hair. 

"They're in my ears," agreed Frodo. The insects got thicker as we neared the Withywindle and the willow trees, attacking us in hordes, and the sun all at once became swelteringly hot. Pent-up exhaustion from the day's journey seemed to rush into my limbs and head. The air was so thick that moving was like trying to swim through mud; even my thoughts were slowed. 

Sam, at my rear, suddenly fell forward into my back with a loud, impolite snore. I stumbled and could scarcely find the strength to keep myself standing. "It's a trick," I said, my voice moving like heavy syrup up my throat. The daylight was burning my eyes, but I had to stay awake — 

"It's no good," mumbled Merry, his stride faltering. "We can't go another step without rest — must have nap — it's cool under the willows." 

"The willows!" I said, as loudly as I could. My eyelids were drooping. 

"Come on," called Frodo, blinking hard at me. "We can't have a nap now… we must get out of the Forest first — " The Baggins toppled onto the grass at roots of the tree, leaves falling around him. Merry and Pippin staggered and fell with their backs to the willow, asleep before they were completely seated. 

Stretching resignedly, I dropped to my knees and tilted back to gape up at the tree, hearing its whispering branches sigh of water and sleep with words cool and peaceful. I tumbled forward and pressed my face to the cold sand, thinking crossly that the sun had better go away at once to let me sleep. 

I was awakened by high-pitched calls of "Help! Help! Help!" breaking stridently into my dreams, and I, dazed, sat up just in time to see Frodo running by, his arms waving frantically. He spotted my head shooting up from the grass and hurried to help me to my feet. The willow branches overhead hissed and groped wrathfully. 

"There you are, Jo," he gasped, his hands trembling. He was drenched to the skin, his curls pressed flat to his forehead, saltwater making rivulets down his cheeks. Samwise was at the foot of the tree kicking like mad at a little smoking pile of brushwood. Frodo explained, "The willow — it has taken Pippin and Merry, Jo — right into its trunk — but Sam — " 

He stopped and held his breath, for on the stifling wind there was a deep voice carried to us. Trying to make sense of the words, we stood still and listened to the hum of the peculiar song. Hope and excitement rose in my chest. 

"_… Poor old Willow-man, you tuck your roots away! _

_ Tom's in a hurry now. Evening will follow day. _

_ Tom's going home again water-lilies bringing. _

_ Hey! Come derry dol! Can you hear me singing?_" 

Without warning, a pointed straw hat fixed with a blue feather appeared over the reeds, bouncing in rhythm with the strange melody. Flashes of a navy jacket showed between the tall blades of grass. Frodo and Sam, desperate, rushed toward the stranger, yelling simultaneously, "Help, help!" I stayed where I was, too nervous and stiff to move. 

A compact man sprang into my view instantly in reply to the hobbits' cries. One of his hands held aloft a large leaf, on which there rested a neat row of cream-colored water lilies. He was wearing great yellow boots, and his auburn beard and sky-blue coat were both long. The man was beaming, even as Frodo came before him and begged fearfully, "Help us!" 

"Whoa, there!" boomed the man in a tone like a low tympani drum. "Where are you a-going to? What's the matter here? Do you know who I am? I am Tom Bombadil, and I'm in a hurry, now. Tell me what your trouble is!" 

"My friends are caught in the willow tree!" gasped Frodo. 

"What?" Tom bellowed, his eyes flashing. "Old Man Willow? That can soon be mended! I'll freeze his marrow cold, if he doesn't behave himself. I'll sing his roots off!" He placed his leaf of lilies delicately next to our drowsy ponies and leaped up to the willow, addressing it directly. Though I was standing immediately to his side, he did not spare me a glance. "Old Man Willow!" 

I had not seen Meriadoc's feet sticking out of the tree's trunk until just then. A fissure, a huge mouth of the willow, was running up nearly the entire height of the tree. Bombadil pressed his lips to the crack and sang in a low voice something that I did not hear, and Merry began to kick his legs violently. I jumped back out of the way. 

"You let them out again, Old Man Willow!" said Tom, striking the willow with one of its broken branches. "You should not be waking! Eat earth, dig deep, drink water — go to sleep! Bombadil is talking!" The man dropped the branch and grabbed for Merry's legs, yanking him out of the tree through the yawning crack. From the other side of the willow, there came a piercing screech of wood, and I could hear Pippin grunt as he was flung to the ground. The willow-tree shuddered. 

"Well," Pip said numbly to himself, "that was interesting." 

I helped the youngest hobbit to stand. "I'll bet," I snorted, thankful that the pair had been returned to us. They were a little rumpled and somewhat shaken, but otherwise perfectly fine. 

"Whose voice did I hear?" asked Peregrin, walking with me to join the rest of the group. 

Frodo, shaking with relief, nodded toward our new companion. "Tom Bombadil's." 

"Thank you," said Merry and Pippin earnestly. 

"All well, my little fellows!" Smelling of spice and herb, Tom Bombadil bent down to stare into our faces. His countenance was warm and jovial, and his cheeks were round and rosy. He chuckled at our upturned gazes and slapped his booted knee, announcing, "You all shall come home with me! Goldberry is waiting. There is time enough for questions around my supper table. Come along with me as fast as you are able!" He whirled away to retrieve his leaf of water lilies, leaving us to gawk after him. 

"He doesn't even know who we are!" I muttered to Frodo. The hobbits and I trotted into the grass, our ears straining for sounds of Bombadil's movement in front of us. 

"I know you all better than it seems, straying Daughter," came Tom's resonant voice, floating back to us. Before I could yell anything in reply, Bombadil broke into song again. 

"_Hop along, my little friends, up the Withywindle! _

_ Tom's going on ahead candles for to kindle… _

_Fear neither root nor bough! Tom goes on before you. _

_ Hey now! merry dol! We'll be waiting for you!_" 

"Bit of a vocalist, isn't he?" quipped Merry, pushing aside the reeds in his way. 

"Careful, he'll hear you," I warned. 

Before long, the sun had set, and we were forced to continue on the winding footpath in the violet twilight. The hobbits looked back over their shoulders with pained expressions, probably thinking of the homes they'd left in the Shire. Evening fog began to rise, snaking through the valley. The trees outlined against the inky sky were ominously sinister, and the grasses _shushed_ on either side of us. 

"Will we never reach the end of this place?" heaved Sam after a time. 

"Be quiet, Sam," said Frodo. "I think this is it." 

Tom Bombadil's house sat, strangely quaint, right at the edge of the Old Forest, away from the trees but right next to the now merrily bubbling Withywindle. The grassy lawn was neat and had obviously been trimmed. There was a rock-lined path leading up to the cottage, which shone pale against the stars and the black shapes of the Barrow-downs beyond. It was stout, made of stone bricks, and its roof was thatched. A warm golden lamplight was pouring from the windows. I looked down at it in awe, feeling my heart lifted by the light and a clear voice ringing from below. 

"_Now let the song begin! Let us sing together _

_ Of sun, stars, moon and mist, rain and cloudy weather, _

_ Light on the budding leaf, dew on the feather, _

_ Wind on the open hill, bells on the heather, _

_ Reeds by the shady pool, lilies on the water: _

_ Old Tom Bombadil and the River-daughter!_" 

"That must be Tom's Goldberry," said Pippin, mesmerized. 

I staggered drearily down the hill behind the hobbits, my feet sliding around sorely in my boots. Frigid winter wind, carrying the scent of dry leaves, blew flyaway hairs out of my unkempt braids. We approached the dwelling, the Withywindle gurgling not far from our side, and the door of Tom Bombadil's home was opened to us. Firelight spilled out onto the lawn, sweeping over us in a rush of warmth. 

"Come in, dear guests!" said a woman from inside, her voice ringing like a delicate silver bell. "Welcome, friends, to Tom Bombadil's home." 


	22. Bombadil and the Barrow Downs

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own any of Tolkien's characters or the world he created. The only character of mine (Jorryn) has decided to take a holiday in Tolkien's Middle-earth. No copyright infringement on any of J. R. R. Tolkien's works is intended. Bombadil and Goldberry belong to Tolkien, not me!

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This must be a record for me! I don't think I've ever gotten another chapter out this quickly. :) Jorryn and the hobbits meet Goldberry in Bombadil's home and stay there before setting out for the Barrow-downs… Reviews are helpful and much appreciated! Please enjoy!

**21**

Stepping over the granite threshold of Tom Bombadil's cottage, I blinked dumbly in the golden radiance surrounding us. The room in which we stood was low, the ceiling crossed by wooden beams and hung with bright lamps. There was a long, dark table, uncovered except by long yellow candles in silver candelabrums and a few empty goblets. The walls were bare, and the floor was not decorated with rug or carpet. Last rays of twilight slanted in through the many windows. And at the opposite end of the room, a lady sat encircled by rough brown pottery and tall vessels overflowing with stunning white water lilies.

I stood dumbstruck, in awe of the lady's beauty. Her hair was as yellow and perfect as summer sunlight, and her gown was a light, sparkling green. A belt of gold sat low on her slender hips. At the sight of us, she rose and leaped over the vessels about her, coming to take Frodo's hand. He stared up at her.

"Come!" she said, her voice ringing with laughter. In her eyes was a brightness that made me think of lost summers and days of ease left behind in the Shire, which forced me to fight the sudden and curious urge to cry. The woman slipped behind us to close the door of her home. "Guests! Laugh, and be merry! I am Goldberry."

A strange gurgling sound escaped Frodo before he managed to say, "Fair lady Goldberry! Now the joy that was hidden in the songs we heard is made plain to me. Fair River-daughter!" He stopped, tripping over his own words, blushing vibrantly.

"I'd not heard that folk of the Shire were so sweet-tongued," smiled the lady, "but I see you are an elf-friend. This is a merry meeting! Sit now. The master of the house will not be long."

The hobbits moved timidly toward the seats at the table, shy and uncertain. Goldberry brushed past them to stand beside me, placing her small, cool hand on my forehead, her gaze seeking mine. "Dear little lady, your journey has made you weary. Come, and refresh yourself."

I followed Goldberry into a room at the back of the cottage, where there were five large mattresses set on one side of the space and washbasins at the other. The stone walls were draped with green and yellow hangings, and the floor was covered with fresh, woven rushes. The River-daughter produced a dress of pale blue and arranged it on the bed that was to be mine.

"Rid yourself of grime and traveling clothes, daughter," she instructed gently. "Our supper will be prepared soon, and afterward you shall rest."

I remained mute and motionless for a long time after she'd left, thinking nothing, feeling nothing. The room was cold, but not unbearably so, and the flagged stones were chill against my bare feet. Slowly, I reached up and undid my bedraggled braids, and moved to an ewer of hot water. I quickly bathed, scrubbing dirt off my cheeks, and then changed into Goldberry's gown, retying my hair into a simple ponytail. When I was done, I sat down slowly on my cushiony mattress, not quite prepared to go back to Goldberry and Bombadil.

My pack was set leaning on the end of the bed, and I stretched over to retrieve my journal from underneath the extra clothes bulging from it. I idly reread through a few of my favorite entries, most particularly the ones from when Bilbo had still been with us. I was still smiling longingly when Frodo knocked on the door of the room.

"Is it all right if we come in to wash, Jo?" he asked.

"Sure," I shrugged, setting aside my journal.

The hobbits filed in, and I could hear Bombadil flouncing down the hall on his way back to the main room. I began to empty my backpack, pulling out rumpled clothing, papers, and other odd supplies that I'd been asked to carry.

Walking across to the basins, Merry eyed me curiously. "That isn't your dress, is it, Jo?"

"No, it belongs to Goldberry," I replied, glancing down at myself self-consciously.

"It's nice," remarked Pippin, splashing cold water on his face, and Merry murmured his agreement. Frodo came to collapse on the bed next to me, rolling up his sleeves.

"I'm not nearly as tired as I was before," he said. "This is a strange and beautiful place."

Clean and rejuvenated, we returned to the dinner table within a few minutes. Tom made it a merry meal, and Goldberry was somehow constantly refilling our plates and cups whenever they got remotely close to being empty. A mug of rich milk had been set out for me; somehow they had known I preferred it to wine. The bread and fruit and cheese were the best I had ever tasted, richer and sweeter than anything I had known. Soon everyone was singing and laughing. I was more willing to listen to the strange tales Bombadil told than to say something myself, but when the hobbits began to speak of Bag End and Bilbo I added comments of my own.

At last the meal was done, and Goldberry swept up the dishes, putting out the lamps around the room. Tom moved his chair to sit before the fireplace at our backs, and the hobbits eagerly followed. With a small smile, the River-daughter turned and gave me a single burning candle. She then stood grandly beside Bombadil, firelight dancing in her shining hair, and bade the hobbits a good night. "Have peace now, until the morning," she said. "Heed no nightly noises! Good night!"

I was not nearly as majestic as Goldberry, so I just bent close to the hobbits' ears and whispered a quick "'Night… sleep well," to each of them. I took my candle and slipped into our room at the end of the main hallway, under my covers and fast asleep by the time my friends came in hours later.

* * *

I was awake before all of them, my soul buzzing with life in my chest. My sheets were twisted around my ankles and I had lost my pillow during the night, but I felt better than I had in weeks. A dull, gray morning light was attempting to make its way through the yellow curtains hanging beside my mattress. Pushing back my blankets, I rose and peeked through the window, looking out on the damp green hillsides and cloudy sky. Goldberry's unmistakable song was sounding from somewhere below, and after a moment she appeared around the corner of the house, carrying a large basket.

"Good morning, dear daughter!" came a soft, spirited voice behind me. I turned to see Bombadil's head and shoulders sticking in from the entryway of our room, his grin only partially hidden by his wiry beard. "The Sun is hiding her face this morning! You and the little hobbits will not do any traveling, my dear. Would you care to help the lady Goldberry in her gardens today?"

"Certainly," I said, beaming at him, and Bombadil disappeared with a nod.

All day long I stayed outside with Goldberry the River-daughter, listening to her songs of the rain and the Sea, helping her gather flowers and herbs for her home. At times she would stand and turn her face to the wind, lifting a hand to shield the stare that seemed to reach out to the very edge of the world. She spoke little to me but smiled often, her gown spilling like silver water over her legs, pooling in the dewy grass. My hair frizzed crazily in the cool, humid weather, so Goldberry helped me to tie it back in a wreath of tiny flowers.

The Sun showed herself briefly just before sunset, shooting brilliant rays over the sparkling hills and downs, and at that time Goldberry moved gracefully to her feet and announced that it was time for her to make our dinner.

She and I entered the cottage by way of a back door, bundles of flowers and vegetables in our arms and a rosiness in our cheeks. The lady lit a candle to aid my passage to the front of the home, while she stayed in the kitchen to prepare supper.

The hobbits were once again sitting in the chairs around the fireplace, their eyes alight. They looked up somewhat fearfully when they heard me enter, but their faces relaxed at my voice. "Goldberry is preparing supper," I informed them, frowning slightly at their odd behavior.

"We shall have food and drink!" cried Tom, jumping up. The hobbits shifted stiffly in their seats, obviously not having moved the entire day. "Long tales are thirsty, and long listening's hungry work." Tom took up another candle and lit it with the one that I held, scurrying out of the room.

Pippin started as though waking from a dream and looked instantly to me. "Good evening, Jo! What did you do all day?"

"I was outside with the Lady," I told him. "What did you talk about with Bombadil?"

"Everything," Frodo said heavily. "Everything there is to talk about."

We ate, if possible, even more than we had the night before, and Goldberry sang for a short while afterward, leading us, in her song, through the hills and down to pools wide and deep. She then took her candle and wished us goodnight before leaving, but I was wide awake. I didn't want to miss Tom's talk tonight.

He asked many questions, mostly of Frodo, who answered him gladly, no matter the topic. The hobbit spoke more of his feelings and thoughts than I had ever heard him tell even Gandalf or Bilbo. Tom listened keenly, nodding, and then suddenly sat forward.

"Show me the precious Ring!" he ordered, and Frodo didn't hesitate to draw it out of his pocket. Hating it for all the power it held over me, I forced myself to turn away as the circle of gold passed from hand to hand. Tom dropped the Ring into his palm, laughed, and slipped it onto his smallest finger. He did not disappear.

Sam gasped. "How… Mr. Frodo…?"

Tom laughed again, tossing the Ring into the air. Catching glints of candlelight, it vanished with a _pop _— Frodo cried out in distress. Bombadil, still chuckling, leaned toward Frodo and gave the horrid thing back to the hobbit. The Baggins examined it suspiciously and turned it over in his fingers.

I tried to keep myself from watching Frodo as he weighed the Ring in his hand. He was sitting too close for me to not see it — so close that it would be almost too easy to reach out and steal it from him —

The conversation moved on to badgers and their habits, and I was just beginning to feel my eyelids droop when I heard Merry give a choked yelp. "Where's Frodo gone?"

Bombadil was looking directly to the doorway leading outside. "Hey, there," he called, "come back, Frodo! Old Tom Bombadil's not as blind as that yet. Take off your golden ring. We must talk a little more and think about the morning!"

There came a shrill, uncomfortable laugh from the spot under Tom's glare, and Frodo materialized out of the shadows, coming and sitting back down in his chair. Bombadil went on without a pause, not taking note of Frodo's flushed face, "The Sun will shine tomorrow, yet it would do you well to set out early, heading out straight North from here."

"What about the Downs?" inquired Pippin.

"Do not fear them," said Bombadil. "Keep to the green grass. And if you need ever need me during the day, call by this rhyme:

_Ho! Tom Bombadil, Tom Bombadillo! _

_By water, wood and hill, by the reed and willow, _

_By fire, sun and moon, harken now and hear us! _

_Come, Tom Bombadil, for our need is near us!_"

We recited it after him until we could say it without thinking. I twisted my hands in my lap, attempting to keep my voice steady and calm, though I don't think anyone noticed that the words "need is near" broke on my lips. Once he was satisfied, the man beamed, thumped the hobbits on their backs, and ordered them to their beds. I began to go after them, but Tom gestured back to my chair, and I stayed.

"Your companions do not realize, exactly, what you are, Lady Jorryn," he said seriously.

"And you do, sir?"

"I know many things," he replied vaguely. "Tom Bombadil is oldest and fatherless. Before the world existed, Tom was here, waiting for the first Children of the world, watching for the first raindrop and the first ray of the Sun."

My eyebrows twitching into a grimace, I asked hopefully, "Do you know why I am here, sir? Why I was brought to Middle-earth?"

Shadows stretched over his sharp nose and bearded chin, and his mouth quirked. "Only the Lords of the West could know that for certain, daughter. Perhaps there is no reason."

"There has to be," I said quietly. I pulled my knees up to my chin, resting my cheek on the bent joints. "Then, could you tell me how? How is it that I came to be here, in a time so completely different from my own?"

He gave me a gentle smile. "Only the Lords of the West could know that for certain."

I shook my head. "Who do you mean, sir?"

"The Great Ones; the Powers of the World, who fought the evils of Melkor and made the World ready for the coming of Elves and Men. It could be that they, the Valar, brought you here to fulfill some purpose of which only they are aware."

Shivering in the cold of the room, alone with Tom Bombadil, I felt very lost. "What will happen to me?"

"That, even Tom Bombadil cannot foresee," said the peculiar, and uncharacteristically solemn, little man seated next to me. "You must make a future for yourself, daughter. We can only know that Frodo was meant to find you in the Shire, just as Bilbo was meant to find the Ring."

We stayed for a long time together, staring drearily into the fireplace and the slowly dying embers, before at last I left him silently and retired to the thin warmth of my bed.

The next morning the hobbits and I ate breakfast alone, our hearts heavy. Outside it was fine and sunny, the atmosphere devoid of clouds. Whispering through grass and willow, a brisk wind was coming down from the hills.

"It's horrible to be leaving," muttered Merry, squinting in the light as we walked out of the cottage after our meal. I had changed back into my traveling garments, and I could feel the chilly air on my legs where my breeches and boots failed to meet.

Waving his pointed hat, Tom Bombadil stood on the threshold of his home, shouting, "Farewell, dear friends!" Calling goodbyes in reply, we mounted our ponies and turned to ride up the path leading around and behind the house.

"Goldberry!" Frodo abruptly exclaimed into our miserable hush, stopping his pony. "We never said goodbye to the fair lady — "

Just then, one of her familiar songs drifted down to where we stood. We hurried up the steep knoll where she waited, and she greeted us with open arms, her hair falling loose across her shoulders and blowing the wind. Here I could see clearly for many miles in any direction I wished — the Forest spread out behind us in a great blanket of green, and before us the earth rose and fell, rolling out into a hazy end. Standing like sentinels, the Mountains beyond were mere outlines. Merry pointed excitedly to a dark border far off on the horizon, crying, "Those trees must mark the East Road!" Frodo peered ahead optimistically.

"Speed now, fair guests!" said Goldberry, putting her hand to Sam's shoulder. "Hold to your purpose! Make haste while the Sun still shines!"

We could not answer her. The hobbits bowed, I awkwardly curtseyed, and we turned the ponies down the hillside. Holding them at a canter, we rode into the warm valley below, Bombadil's house and Goldberry slipping away from our view. Tom's words from the night before wrapped themselves around my heart, never to be forgotten.

Our journey was long and hot, the sun soon burning the back of my naked neck. The landscape was barren of trees, but the short brown turf was springy under our ponies' hooves. Clouds began to form around the rim of the atmosphere, great thunderheads warning of storms. Now we were near the Barrow-downs — they were high and topped by jagged stones. They were utterly frightening even in cheery daylight, and it was eerie to see something obviously made by an intelligent being left in the middle of nowhere, abandoned and ghostly. I kept reminding myself, whenever I glimpsed the threatening Downs, that I would not be in danger, that Bombadil would save us, and that a Barrow-wight was nothing in comparison to a Black Rider… Nonetheless, I was terrified out of my wits.

The hobbits were undaunted by the disturbing sights of the toothy hilltops. Bombadil had given us liberal amounts of food and drink, and my friends felt compelled to frequently lessen the weight of their packs. I could sit for only a short while and eat just a bit of bread or fruit, and then I would busy myself with tidying my saddlebags. In the late afternoon we came to the top of one down and decided to rest.

"Jo, are you feeling all right?" asked Frodo, digging out a wheel of cheese wrapped in brown cloth. "Here, have some grapes… Tom packed them especially for you."

"I don't want anything," I said tightly.

"Come and sit, at least, Miss Jo," pleaded Sam.

The Gamgee had stuffed his mouth with pieces of an apple, and his cheeks were bulging. He looked so comical that I couldn't resist him or my giggles. I obediently plopped myself down next to him and waited for the others to finish.

* * *

I was roughly shaken back to consciousness by a hand on my shoulder and a voice falling forbiddingly in my ears. "Jo, wake up! Night has fallen!"

_Night on the Barrow-downs_. The thought struck me like lightening. I sprang up, feeling the cold darkness of a large pillar of stone at my back. Fog was undulating all around us and blotting out whatever light would have been gleaned from the Moon. Nothing could be seen of the immediate landscape.

"What happened?" I squeaked.

Pippin, huddling over himself, shrugged embarrassedly. "We fell asleep."

"We still know which way to go," Frodo said. He was hastily shoving things back into bags, the tips of his pointed ears pink. "We're bound to come across the East Road if we head in its general direction."

So we hurriedly set out on a path that the hobbits all agreed was in the East Road's "general direction." The fog was thicker and colder at the low points between knolls, making our sodden hair drip into our eyes. Cloaks were of little use.

I was shuddering both from the iciness in the air and my own dread. My nose was running and my clothes sagged against my skin. I decided then that there was nothing more sinister than being in a misty wilderness at night with dark pressing in on all sides.

I suddenly heard Frodo call, "Come on, follow me!"

It was strange; we had been traveling in a single-file line with Frodo as the lead, but his cry seemed to come from somewhere above and behind. Sam, who had been following the Baggins, would have noticed him straying from the others.

"Frodo?" Merry yelled in confusion. "Where are you?"

Frodo's voice came dimly from our left, now. I couldn't understand any of his words. Twisting around in my seat, I glanced at Pippin and Merry. Their hoods were soaked with moisture and drooped down nearly to their noses. I felt fear flow like ice through my veins, directly to my fingertips, freezing me into a solid form atop my pony.

"Hoy, Frodo!" Pippin screamed. Our mounts shook at their bridles unnervingly.

"Please don't shout," I whimpered, but not before Merry took up the yell, to no avail.

"Frodo must have gone off in another direction," said the Brandybuck, shivering slightly. "We should stay here and then find each other when the fog has lifted."

"And where is 'here,' exactly?" snorted Pippin.

There came a bitter, bone-chilling whisper out of the fog, creeping up to close piercing fingers over my heart. "I have found you first! Do not fear. You will all be together soon."

My head grew light as something swooped overhead like an evil shadow, barely stirring the mists. I heard Merry and Pippin fall to the ground with muffled cries, and suddenly long fingers were grasping for my neck. There was a pale, revolting green glow emanating from the Barrow-wight.

"You will be particularly enjoyable to kill, Daughter of Man," it hissed, something like its breath touching my ear. Sliding off my pony, I retched. The last thing I saw was a shadowed figure outlined against the fog, its pale eyes glowering cruelly down at me.


	23. Reaching Bree

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own any of Tolkien's characters or the world he created. The only character of mine (Jorryn) has decided to take a holiday in Tolkien's Middle-earth. No copyright infringement on any of J. R. R. Tolkien's works is intended. Bombadil and Goldberry belong to Tolkien, not me!

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Blast! I missed my own deadline — only by a day, though. :) I tried to get this out in time for Christmas but failed miserably. As always, thank you for reading and reviewing, and thank you for your patience. And a happy belated birthday to ArwenAria18. ;)

**22**

Fear, sharp, biting, and vile, was poisoning the heavy, acrid air. My limbs were heavy, and my muscles were cramped with pain. It was so very dark, so cold…

Panic crept lazily into my mind as I slowly realized that I didn't know where I was, or even _who_ I was. It did not bother me, however, for my mind was filled with nothing but shadow and dread. There _was_ a single, strange memory of a night — a memory of men yelling fearfully that the enemy was upon us. And I had _heard_ the arrow being drawn and loosed, _felt_ it pierce my arm —

There was a warmth on my shoulder. _Blood_, I thought dully of the weight, but then the voice of a hobbit broke through the screams and curses of my dream, and dirty, wild faces were replaced with a young, sweet countenance. "Jo, it's all right. Can you hear me, Jo?" The darkness wavered, and a song came floating to my ears.

_Wake now, my merry dears! Wake and hear me calling!_

All at once, I could breathe again, and the air rushing into my lungs was warm and fresh. I sat up blinking dumbly in the morning sunlight, someone to my side muttering, "What in the name of goodness?"

The bright dawn was crisp on our green hilltop. There was soft, springy turf underneath me, birds twittering in the distance, and fingers intertwined with mine. I looked up at Frodo Baggins as relief poured into my heart and a grin spread on my face.

Returning my smile, the Baggins let out a great heave. "Thank heavens, I thought you'd left us, Jo," he muttered, reaching up and tugging a twig out of my braids. His dark hair was matted flatly over the lovely ears that I knew so well, and his face was soiled. And he was one of the most adorable things I had ever seen.

"I did leave you, Frodo," I replied hoarsely. I gripped at my arm, which was still throbbing, and tried to bring myself back to reality. Over Frodo's shoulder I saw Tom Bombadil, tall and proud, standing above us on the barrow, hands on his hips. Merry, Pippin, and Sam were all sitting next to me in the grass, bewildered and pale. We had been dressed in flimsy gowns and ancient jewelry; I was weighed down with a circlet, several chain necklaces, and a studded bracelet. The cloth of my robe floated about my arms as if some mysterious breeze was lifting it.

I threw off my heavy necklaces, and Samwise blinked at me, something like recognition passing over his features.

"Are you all right?" I asked the hobbits. Sam and Pippin nodded, thin golden crowns slipping down over their foreheads.

Meriadoc glanced at Frodo. "Where did you run off to, Mr. Baggins?"

"I thought that I was lost," said Frodo with a grimace, "but I don't want to speak of it." He helped me to my feet and turned toward Bombadil. "What we are to do now — go on, I hope?"

"Dressed up like this, Mr. Frodo?" Samwise frowned, standing awkwardly. He cast his eyes to the ground around the hilltop. "Where are my clothes?"

"You won't find your clothes again," said Tom Bombadil cheerily, speaking up for the first time. He leapt from his perch and did a little jig around me, a flash of brilliant blue against the green countryside.

Peregrin pursed his lips. "What do you mean? Why not?"

"You have found yourselves again out of deep water. Clothes are of little consequence, if you escape from drowning." The little man grabbed for my hands and spun me in a circle. "Be glad, my merry friends, while Tom fetches what was lost." Bombadil flew off downhill, singing and whistling all the while.

The hobbits didn't need to be told a second time. They made a pile of the gold and were soon playing one of their games of the Shire. Choosing to stay in the Barrow-wight's clothes, I was content to sit and watch, taking in the sun and the wind. I could just make out the Mountains as raised, blue peaks on the horizon, the hills at their feet rolling out toward us. The end of the Barrow-downs was marked where the trees began at the East Road once more.

By the time the hobbits had finished (Pippin won their game, I think), Tom reappeared with all of our ponies and one more — Fatty Lumpkin, a mount for himself. The man bowed, calling the ponies by the names he'd given them. "Here are your ponies, now! Here they come again, bringing all their burdens!"

I hurried toward my saddlebags, but then stopped. Before being captured by the wight, I had been wearing Frodo's shirt and breeches that he'd given me long ago. They were my favorite clothes, and I had lost them. Another thought struck me — the Dwarven boots given to me by Bilbo. "Oh no," I squeaked, tears gathering in my eyes. Ripping open my bags in frustration, I cursed and kicked at the ground. "Why didn't I remember?"

Frodo peered at me over his pony. "What is it?"

I swiped at my damp face. "The wight took the — the clothing you gave me — your breeches, and the shirt."

Pulling a tunic down over his head, the Baggins quirked a smile. "That's all right," he murmured, digging in his pack. He threw me another outfit that nearly matched my old one. "I don't need these."

"Thank you so much, Frodo," I said softly, my spirits still dragging. I undid the suspenders from his breeches and tossed them back to him. "When we get to Bree, I can change into a dress."

Humming a little tune, Bombadil was busy readying his horse. Frodo, buttoning up his extra vest, asked, "Where does that animal come from?"

"He's mine," replied Tom, petting Fatty Lumpkin's neck. "I seldom ride him, and he wanders often far, free upon the hillsides. Bombadil will ride him now, though, for he is coming with you, just to set you on the road."

Merry beamed. "We owe much to you, Tom Bombadil."

"Thank you!" Pippin and Sam said.

The man laughed heartily and shook his head. "You hobbits are so good at losing yourselves that I will not feel happy until I see you safely to the Road."

The hobbits and I lunched quickly on the knoll, while Bombadil went up to the barrow and brought out the treasures that were hidden there. He left a great deal of it to whoever should come upon the pile, and he chose for himself a brooch with sapphire stones.

I went up to see what he was doing. His eyes met mine briefly from where he knelt next to a collection of jewelry and weapons. "I suppose, Lady Jorryn, that you will not want a pretty trinket to wear on your arm or brow."

"It wouldn't get much use," I smirked, shaking my head.

Bombadil chuckled and offered me a small sword instead. It slipped easily out of its sheath, clean and glittering, light in my palm. It was long and slender, and the silver hilt was ornamented with flowing golden lines that continued down the blade like graceful trails of silk.

The sword flashed in the sun, and I gave it an experimental wave. "Thank you, sir," I said, in awe. "Does — does it have a name?"

"The Men of Westernesse gave it a name, certainly; but this weapon's time was long ago, and its title has been long forgotten." He observed my actions for a second, and the hobbits, done with their meal, joined us on the mound. Bombadil presented them each with broad, shining daggers, which they drew in wonder. "Old knives are long enough as swords for hobbit-people," he said. "Sharp blades are good to have, if Shire-folk go walking far away into dark and danger."

At long last, after packing up our ponies and ourselves, we set out down through the valley and over the hills. Tom Bombadil's pony trotted along merrily before us, its rider singing tunes made up of nothing but nonsense lyrics. Bouncing in my saddle, I giggled with the hobbits behind him, watching the countryside roll around us. We were forced to climb in and out of an old dike — the border of an early kingdom, Bombadil said — after which the land became flat and bare except for a distant row of tall trees visible from the end of the Downs. The sun began to swing low as we galloped north toward the Road, wind ripping at our cloaks. Shadows of the pines flanking the East Road stretched long across the plain. We pulled to a halt under the trees, at the top of a sloping bank above the way to Bree.

"Here we are again at last!" Frodo said contentedly. "We haven't lost more than two days by my shortcut. Maybe our delay put them off our trail."

My head snapped up. _The Black Riders…_ "Thanks for reminding me, Frodo," I groaned, my stomach beginning to church with anxiety.

The hobbits were looking uneasily up and down the Road. "Do you think — do you think we may be pursued tonight?" wondered Pippin.

"No, I hope not tonight," said Tom Bombadil, "but I cannot tell for certain. Out east, my knowledge fails." The man's words were only a little comfort, even though his mouth tipped a bit when his gaze fell on me. "Ride on until dark, little hobbits. In Bree, you'll find an old inn that is called _The Prancing Pony_, where Barliman Butterbur is its worthy keeper. Be bold, but wary!"

"Won't you come with us to the inn?" said Frodo.

"Tom's country ends here," he said, "and Goldberry is waiting." Bombadil tossed up his feathered hat and caught it before hopping onto the back of Fatty Lumpkin. I started to wave, but Tom suddenly stopped. "Oh, goodness, old Tom almost forgot!" He produced something from one of his saddlebags and offered it to me.

I gasped in astonishment. "My boots! But how did you — "

"Eager he was for you, my dear," said Tom, eyes twinkling gently. "I found these outside the barrow, together with your cloak, or what was left of it." He placed them into my hands, whispering, "Keep them well, dear Lady."

"Thank you," I said, " for everything."

He beamed at us all and started away back across the plain, calling over his shoulder, "Farewell, friends!"

We rested on our ponies, squinting to the south till Tom Bombadil disappeared from our view. For some time his joyous songs came back to us, even after the sunlight withdrew from the heavens and stained the sky a vivid pink.

"I am sorry to take leave of Master Bombadil," said Sam wistfully. "He's a merry man, and no mistake. I reckon we may go a good deal further and see naught better, nor queerer. But I won't deny I'll be glad to see this _Prancing Pony_ he spoke of. What sort of folk are they in Bree?"

"There are hobbits in Bree, as well as Big Folk," Merry said, turning his pony about. "_The Pony _is a good inn — my people ride out there now and again."

"Big Folk?" winced Sam. "How many?"

"It's all right, Sam," Frodo grinned, nodding toward me, "we've got one of our own."

I gaped at the Baggins, choking on my disbelief. "Well, I'm glad to know that I'm good for _something_."

The hobbits didn't try to conceal their amusement. Merry and Pip gave great snorts of laughter when Sam pointed out, "We protected you from our kind, when you showed up on the Hill."

"And quite a job that was, too," simpered Peregrin. "I think our hobbits were more _frightened _than _frightening_."

Frodo brushed curls from his eyes, sighing deeply with a smile still tugging on his lips. "No matter," he said. "_The Prancing Pony_ may be all we could wish for, but it is outside the Shire. Don't make yourselves too much at home. And please remember that the name of Baggins much not be used — I am Mr. Underhill, for now."

"Let us proceed, then, Mr. Underhill," said Pippin grandly, sweeping his hand toward the lights of Bree emerging in the twilight.

"Let's," said Frodo in a low voice heavy with determination. He spurred his pony forward, and we galloped into the evening.

* * *

The moon and stars were out by the time we reached the West-gate of the village. The East Road had been hard to travel due to the recent rain; mud covered the legs of our ponies and the bottoms of our feet.

At the gate, Frodo pulled his hood up over his eyes. The man keeping the gateway jumped to his feet when he saw us approaching, holding a lantern high over his head. His features were grisly. "What do you want, and where do you come from?" he demanded throatily.

"We want to stay at the inn," said Frodo, his head tilted back so he could better see the gatekeeper. "We are journeying east."

The man narrowed his stare. "Hobbits!" he said. "Five of them! Out of the Shire, I assume?"

I giggled gleefully to myself. _Better to have them mistake me for a hobbit than a girl_, I thought. I guessed that the men of Bree were not known for their virtues or civility, and I did not want to be thought of as "easy prey."

After another moment, the gatekeeper grunted and shook his head. "We don't often see Shire-folk riding on the Road at night," he said, opening the gate for us. "What may your names be?"

"Our names and our business are our own," said Frodo.

"Your business is your own, no doubt," snapped the man, "but it's my job to ask questions after nightfall."

Merry put in, "We are hobbits from Buckland, and want to stay at the inn here. I am Mr. Brandybuck — is that good enough for you?"

"All right, all right, I meant no offense!" said the gatekeeper. "There's rumor of a strange folk about. If you go on to _The Pony_, you'll discover you're not the only guests."

Frodo said nothing in reply, and we went on. Looking back, I saw that the man was still watching us, and when he moved to return to his post, I perceived a dark figure, like a shadow, sliding in over the gate.

I righted myself in my saddle. "Hello, Aragorn," I whispered. The hobbits had not noticed him.

The main road of Bree ran down the middle of the village, lined on both sides by stables, paddocks, and cottages. It was a wide avenue, muddy and pitted, and only one other person was on it besides us. The glows of fire and lamplight shone through the shuttered windows of homes. I grew cold as the night deepened.

"Where do we go _now_?" Sam was gawking at the huge structures towering over us.

"I don't know," said Frodo.

"Maybe would could ask for directions," I suggested. The unknown traveler on the road was coming out of one of the nearby paddocks. "Excuse me," I called impulsively. "Would you please tell us how to get to _The Prancing Pony_?"

The girl looked up. Brown hair fell in a fine curtain about a round face, smiling lips, and an upturned nose. Dark eyes peeked up at me. "_The Pony_?" she echoed. Putting down her sack of potatoes, she pointed down the muddy path. "If you stay on this street, you'll come upon a cobbled lane crowded with carts, on the left. _The Pony_ is just down that lane."

"Thank you," Frodo nodded. "What is your name?"

"Alfirin Wood, sire," said the girl, curtseying slightly.

"Thanks very much for your help," I said.

We found the street described to us within a few minutes. Our ponies clopped around the crowded lane, avoiding the many men staring blatantly at us, and came to rest under a swinging sign which bore a white horse rearing on its hind legs. The inn was a three-storied building with a thatched roof and curtained windows; inside, men were singing and laughing. There was an archway curving over the steps leading into _The Pony_, and beyond it a courtyard and the rooms of the inn were located.

"This is it," said Merry happily.

"At last," Pippin said, dragging himself off his saddle, "a warm fire and a mug of good ale."

Samwise frowned up at the signpost above. "We surely aren't going to stay here for the night, are we, Mr. Frodo?" he said. "If there are hobbit-folk in these parts, why don't we look for some that would be willing to take us in? It would be more like home."

"What's wrong with the inn?" Frodo said, slipping lightly down to the ground. "Tom Bombadil recommended it. I expect it will be enough like home on the inside."

We left the ponies standing under the arch. The hobbits hurried inside, but I lingered behind on the broad steps, looking intently out into the gloomy street. Though nothing could be seen in the shadows, I beamed and whispered to the Ranger that was hiding somewhere near, "See you in a little bit." I then shook my hood back away from my head and walked into _The Prancing Pony_.


	24. The Ranger

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own any of Tolkien's characters or the world he created. The only character of mine (Jorryn) has decided to take a holiday in Tolkien's Middle-earth. No copyright infringement on any of J. R. R. Tolkien's works is intended.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **This chapter was, I believe, around nine or ten pages in Microsoft Word, so I hope its length makes up for my lateness. Again. :) Thank you all for your lovely reviews and suggestions — **Rainne **had a question about where I got the name Jorryn. I actually just looked around on for a name that suited my character's personality, and that was one that I liked. In this chapter Jo finally gets to meet a certain Ranger, and plans are made to reach Rivendell.

**23**

_The Prancing Pony_ was a lively place, and its common room was crowded with both men and hobbits shrouded in thick pipe-weed smoke. My four companions were already lost in the gloom; I frowned into the foul haze, fumes stinging my eyes. I felt many gazes follow my movement from the door to a nearby table, and I abruptly noticed that everyone in the room was male, no matter if they were Dwarf, Hobbit, or Man. They were seedy-looking individuals, all grubby travelers with greasy hair and soiled, saggy clothing. I tried to draw myself to my full height, but it wasn't much help — I was not an imposing figure, by any means.

"Jo, over here," called Frodo hurriedly from a crowded parlor branching off of the main hall.

Relieved, I headed toward them, but stopped short. A lanky man was edging by me, trying to get through the doorway leading to the parlor at the same time I was. "Watch yourself, Miss," he said crustily, his breath stinking of alcohol, and I jumped back from the shower of ale that spilled from one of the many mugs in his hands.

"Ugh!" I exclaimed reflexively. Grimacing in disgust, I wiped at my damp hair and shoulders. The man continued on without glancing back at me.

"All well, Miss Jo?" shouted Sam.

"Yes, thank you," I replied grumpily, hoping my hair didn't smell like the man's bitter beverage.

There was a broad, heavyset gentleman bent down over my hobbits with his hands on his knees, his thin hair swept away from his old face, who stood straight when I came up. He was cleaning his hands distractedly on his apron, hazel eyes open wide, his sideburns and mustache bushy on his cheeks.

"Barliman Butterbur," said Frodo by way of an introduction, waving from the man to me, "this is our companion, Jorryn."

"Hello," I said to Butterbur.

The kind landlord nodded courteously at me, but then stopped, struck with forgetfulness. "There it goes again!" he cried in a thickly lilting tone, snapping his fingers. I lifted my eyebrow curiously, but Frodo only shook his head. Butterbur went on to himself, "It'll come back, when I have time to think of it. You need one room, you say?"

"Whatever you have," said Frodo.

"All right, then. We don't often get a party out of the Shire, and I should be sorry not to make you welcome. But there is such a crowd already in the house tonight as there hasn't been for long enough. It never rains but it pours, we say in Bree. Hey, Nob!" he shouted toward the kitchens.

A portly hobbit bustled to us from where he had been clearing dishes away from a table, throwing a dishrag over his arm. His step faltered briefly when he caught sight of us, and he stared with obvious interest. "Yes — right here, Mr. Butterbur."

"Where's Bob?" questioned Butterbur, and the hobbit shrugged blankly in reply. "You don't know? Well, find him! Tell Bob there are ponies outside that have to be stabled. He must find room for them somehow."

"Right away, sir," the hobbit chirped, and he winked at me blatantly before trotting away. I gawked at his retreating back.

"I believe you've gotten yourself an admirer, Jo," snickered Pippin.

"He must think I'm a hobbit," I said embarrassedly.

"Hobbit, hobbit…" grumbled Barliman, tapping at his brow in vain. "What was I going to say? One thing drives out another, so to speak. There's a traveling party of dwarves going West come in this evening, and last night there was a strange company from down South. Now there's you. If you weren't hobbits, I doubt if we could house you." He motioned for us to follow him, and he led us down a smaller passageway. "But we've got a room or two in the north wing that were made special for hobbits, when this place was built. On the ground floor as you usually like it, with round windows and all. I hope you'll be comfortable."

He opened a door onto a small private parlor, where a fire was burning in the hearth before several large, cozy armchairs. A round table was set up already, spread with an elegant white tablecloth.

"Will you be needing a separate room, little Miss?" the innkeeper asked me, tapping my shoulder lightly.

"I… don't think so," I answered uncertainly. I had shared a room with the hobbits in Tuckborough, so I assumed that we would do the same here. "Thank you, though."

Butterbur smiled quickly. "Not at all. You'll be wanting supper, no doubt," he continued to the others. "As soon as may be. I hope this will do. Please excuse me now. I'm that busy, honestly. It's hard work for two legs, but I don't get any thinner. If you want anything, ring the hand-bell on the table, there, and Nob will come." The landlord closed the door and could be heard bustling back down the hall.

"Well!" said Frodo, unclasping his cloak and throwing it onto one of the chairs, "I think we'll be at home here!"

"After a welcome like that, I should think so," Pippin laughed.

Meriadoc curiously picked up the bell from the table, but before he could give it a shake, Nob poked his head into the room. "Begging your pardon," he huffed, entering without bothering to ask if we required something. He was holding a heavy tray of porcelain plates, a burning candlestick balanced at the center. "Will you be wanting anything to drink, masters?"

"Yes," said Frodo, hesitating, "please bring ale for all of us, and a mug of cold milk for the Lady."

Glancing at me, the hobbit's round cheeks flushed as he realized his mistake, and he bit his lower lip, abashed. He went on uneasily, concentrating fully on the plates, "Shall — shall I show you the bedrooms, while your supper is readied, sirs?"

He took us to a washroom, where several tubs were all lined up against the far wall. There were thin green curtains separating each bath, but I was the only one to draw them around my area. Washing the smudged dirt from my face and soaking in the steaming water, I listened to the hobbits splash around noisily outside. Peregrin was pretending to drown, by the sound of it.

I soaked for a long time in my bath, sliding down until my chin touched the surface of the water. My legs and lower back were tight, and my muscles were blazingly sore. I had never been any sort of extraordinary athlete, but I had exercised often and previously thought I was in at least halfway decent shape.

Blowing bubbles in the bathwater, I gurgled, "If only I had a treadmill."

As I had promised Frodo, I changed into one of my more casual dresses and sent his pants and shirt to be cleaned. We returned to the parlor and were in the middle of our drinks by the time Nob and Butterbur brought supper. It was a simple but plentiful meal of bread and butter, cheeses, stew, cold ham, and blackberry tarts for dessert. I had not had such good plain food since just before leaving Bag End.

Barliman, standing over us while we ate, mused, "I don't know whether you would care to join the company, when you have supped. Perhaps you would rather go to your beds. We don't get Outsiders — travelers from the Shire, I should say, begging your pardon," bumbled the man, and he tipped his head slightly. "We don't get many Shire-folk often, and we like to hear a bit of news, or any story or song. But as you please! Ring the bell if you need anything."

I considered his invitation as I finished my second pastry. Personally, I had not liked the look of the men in the tavern at all, and I would certainly be uncomfortable in their midst. Though I loved my hobbits, they were little defense against fully-grown Men who might want to take advantage of a younger lady.

Frodo, Samwise, and Pippin jumped on the chance for more drink and good talk, exactly like I knew they would, but Meriadoc declared, "The idea sounds stuffy. I think I'll sit here quietly by the fire for a bit, and perhaps go out later for some air."

Thinking that I had remembered this part of the book accurately, I decided to remain where I would feel a great deal safer. "I'll stay here with Merry, if that's all right," I concluded. "You all won't be out for very long, will you?" Frodo, pulling on his brown jacket, smiled at me reassuringly and shook his head.

"Don't forget that you're supposed to be escaping in secret," warned Merry, "and are still not very far from the Shire."

"All right, all right!" cried Pippin. "Watch yourselves, also. Don't get lost on your little stroll."

Soon Merry and I were alone in our parlor. It seemed extremely late to me, and the long days of incessant travel were weighing down palpably on my aching shoulders. Nevertheless, the Brandybuck and I filled over an hour with tales of our childhoods and memories of Hobbiton, and Merry insisted on talking about food.

"Back in Hobbiton, the best cooks were at _The Green Dragon_," Merry informed me, moving the meager leftovers of his supper around on his plate. "I think that they bought most of their produce from Farmer Maggot, so naturally their carrots and mushrooms, especially, were unrivaled by any other tavern in the Westfarthing."

"The best place I ever ate at was a little café called _La Castiglione_… they had the best chocolates," I reminisced. "My parents were both good cooks, too."

"Did they ever make mushrooms for you?"

"No," I said ruefully.

Merry's head snapped up, and he looked at me imploringly. "Mushrooms still exist in your time, don't they?"

"Of course they do, Meriadoc Brandybuck," I giggled, amused by his concern for the survival of a fungus. Letting my toes dangle a few inches above the ground, I sat back in my armchair. Burning cinders were floating up from our fire into the chimney, fading as they went. "I just meant my parents never fixed them the way hobbits usually do. They used to put them in salads and on pizza, but I never ate them, so I wouldn't know if they are as good as Farmer Maggot's mushrooms."

Merry stared at me for a moment, firelight dancing in his dark eyes. "Well, that's a good thing," he said softly. "I'm sure your parents' mushrooms were just as good as Maggot's."

"Well, we didn't exactly — grow our own food. We bought it from a store, after it had been grown by someone else, cleaned, and shipped."

"Oh," he said slowly, frowning. "I don't suppose you did that much sneaking about other people's patches, then, did you?"

I beamed. "No."

We drained our mugs, our feet stretched out close to the dying fire. Beyond the glass of our round windows, it was dark and silent, and the dim lights of Bree glowed from the road. I shivered at the thought of Black Riders waiting somewhere in the shadows outside the gates. After some short calculating, I concluded that Saruman had taken Gandalf captive in Isengard by now, so both the White Wizard and Sauron knew that Frodo bore the Ring. Weathertop was looming ever closer.

Yawning, Merry pushed himself to his feet and ran a hand through his bright curls. "How about that walk, Jo? I'm feeling a bit warm."

"All right," I agreed, shaking away my thoughts of the Black Riders. I fetched an extra jacket from a peg near the door and stepped into my boots. Leaving our parlor unlocked, Merry and I worked our way down the hall leading to the main entrance of _The Pony_, passing the common room where Pippin could be heard yelling drunkenly of the old Took and his home at the Great Smials. Laughter exploded from the others listening to him.

"I hope they don't do anything foolish," murmured Merry, winding expertly through the crowded corridors. I kept my head down, not daring to meet the eyes of any man.

The chill of the night air struck us the instant we stepped out onto the cobbled street in front of _The Prancing Pony_; Merry and I took a trail north up a hill and down through the residential areas of the village. I clutched my coat tightly about my shoulders and tried to stay out of the way of the other men coming against us on the lane. The cold, gray homes of Bree seemed to lean in over us, their stone and wooden structures weathered with age. Shadows were deep in the many alleyways and arches we glimpsed from our path, but the stars were glinting brighter than ever in the inky atmosphere above.

"Rather stuffy, isn't it?" quipped the Brandybuck, jumping over a pothole in the road.

"They did make everything very close together," I nodded.

Merry and I walked the entire length of the winding road until at last we were brought back before _The Prancing Pony_. During our stroll someone had come to light the streetlamps, and we paused under their protective glow.

"Jo," said Meriadoc, gazing up at the constellations glittering in the sky, "did you ever find those vegetables that Pippin and I put in your boots, that night on the Hill? When we went to Odo Whitfoot's garden?"

I sighed and grinned wistfully. "Yes, I did, you little sneak. I can't remember whatever happened to them, though."

"Will we ever have times like that again, I wonder?"

Not wanting to answer him, I looked at his small form huddled under the lamplight. His lips were pursed and arms crossed, his upturned nose perfectly outlined against the darkness. He had no idea what was ahead for him and the rest of Middle-earth.

I opened my mouth to offer some encouragement, beginning, "Merry — "

Interrupting me, Meriadoc hastily waved a hand in my face, motioning for silence. He was scowling fixedly into the gloom across the street. "Hello there!" he whispered to our empty surroundings. "What are you?"

Following his gaze, I squinted into the rustling bushes, where everything looked silent and ordinary. The luminance of the streetlamps did not reach that far, and I could not see anything. "Merry, what are you — "

But suddenly, I felt it — a sharp, bitter terror creeping into my limbs, clutching at my heart and throat. My breath left me in a small explosion of air, and the hobbit beside me shuddered. I had to reach for his arm to steady myself.

"Merry, let's go," I heard myself say thinly.

"No… did you see it, Jo? That black thing that slid across the ground, over there?" Merry took a slow step into the road, still peering incredulously into the shrubs facing us.

"I didn't see it!" I snapped. My hands shaking, I pulled pleadingly on the sleeve of his shirt. "Merry, let's go back inside, please."

He slipped out of my clasp effortlessly and without delay made eastward up the road, bending double to better perceive any sort of movement. After a split-second of indecision, I jogged after him.

"Merry, this is a really, really stupid thing to do," I declared unconvincingly. I frantically searched my mind for any remembrance of what should have happened at that time — and I was filled with dread by the fact that I could recall nothing. I knew that only one creature of Middle-earth could invoke so much terror in another being… But were the Nazgûl already within Bree?

I gave a huge gasp, the memory springing belatedly to the front of my brain. "… Bill Ferny."

Furious with myself, I struck my thigh with the side of my fist and cursed my poor memory. In the last few days, my mind had failed me horribly, even though I'd tried to keep in it the more important parts of _The Fellowship of the Ring_. I could be in considerable trouble if my brain worked this poorly in the near future. "Blast it all, Merry — I can't believe this!" I growled to my friend.

The hobbit took no notice of me, his gaze never leaving the deep darkness at his feet. I knew that I could not, for the sake of the story, stop him, no matter how much I wanted to, so we went on in uncomfortable silence until we reached the last house on the street. It was a teetering wooden building which stood just before the Bree gates, its courtyard enclosed by a tall, mangy hedge. I intertwined my fingers at my waist in an effort to stop their quivering.

"Do you hear that?" murmured Merry, putting his pointed ear close to the hedge.

Unnerved by the dullness of his question and the maniacal gleam in his eyes, I listened, just able to make out the gruff words of a man. "… There are only five of them… staying in the north wing… _The Prancing Pony_…"

"That must be Ferny," I breathed. Merry, beside me, began to tremble violently.

The traitorous man on the other side of the hedge went on, louder now, "Is that all you need, masters?"

The answering voice froze the blood in my veins — it was a low, terrible, malevolent _hiss_, like cold wind through dead, rattling branches — like the last, unsettling breath of a dying man. "That is all."

Terrified, I jerked up. My arms were stiff and my head light, and my extremities were growing numb.

"Merry," I choked dully to the hobbit, "I'm going now."

I turned and bolted.

Never daring to look back, I sprinted away up the road and around the corner leading to _The Pony_'s street. Leaves of the brush surrounding me stirred, and the vision of a Nazgûl sliding smoothly along the ground under the shrubbery at my heels came to mind. I held up my hindering skirts and rushed on.

"Whoa, there, Miss! What's happened?"

The shout of Nob, who was standing in the middle of the walk with a lantern, nearly startled me out of my wits. I had not seen him, and he caught me with an arm as I ran by.

I shrieked and thrashed away from him. When I recognized his round face, I heaved apologetically, "Oh, it's — it's you, Nob! I didn't see you!"

"What is the matter, Miss?"

I waved my hand vaguely over my shoulder. "You must help me, Merry is — my friend is down the road — "

Without another word, the hobbit bustled around me, holding the lamp high over his head. He scowled down the street to the last home, where I'd left Meriadoc. I lingered behind, still trying to catch the oxygen that had escaped my lungs.

"Ai!" Nob shouted suddenly, and he took off the way I had come.

"What is it?" I cried, hurrying after him.

Merry had collapsed against the hedge at the roadside, and in the obscurity beyond him I could just make out the forms of two retreating figures. The things slipped into the dusk and disappeared.

Nob, kneeling alongside Meriadoc, lifted his squinty stare to mine and gave me his lantern. "Who were those men?"

"I — don't know who they were."

"Well, this is Bill Ferny's house, here — did you see anything of _him_?"

"I don't know, I can't be sure," I repeated, "but I heard voices." It was freezing, and my skin pricked with goose bumps. Watching Nob pull Merry up into a limp sitting position, I gnawed on my lower lip.

"Wake up, now, lad," urged Nob, shaking my companion gently. Almost right away, Merry grew rigid and opened his eyes in surprise.

"Merry, are you all right?" I asked worriedly, the lantern casting an eerie glow across us.

"I — I thought I had fallen into deep water!" he said distantly, blinking hard. With a sharp inhalation, he jumped to his feet, then dashed off hurriedly toward _The Prancing Pony_. I pursued as fast as I could.

"Where are you both going now?" Nob wheezed at our rear.

Merry did not slow his pace until we were back before our parlor at _The Pony_. He was oblivious to the other travelers crowding the corridors, and he passed them with little more than a rustling of their clothing. When we reached the parlor, Meriadoc fell upon the door and burst loudly into the room. Over his bent form, I saw Frodo and Pippin looking surprised in the flickering firelight. Nob and I pushed him in before us and banged the door shut.

"I have seen them, Frodo!" Merry coughed. "I have seen them — Black Riders!"

Frodo gaped at us. "Black Riders! Where?"

"Here, in Bree," I wobbled, pushing my curls out of my face.

Merry went on, his hands on his knees, "We — Jo and I — we stayed inside for an hour. When you didn't come back, we went out for our walk. Suddenly I shivered and felt that something horrible was creeping near — Jo felt it, too. There was a sort of deeper black among the shadows across the road. It slid away at once into the dark without a sound."

Another voice, one foreign, deep, and strong, cut into our exchange. "Which way did it go?"

I turned swiftly to get my first sight of Aragorn Elessar.

He rose above us all, lean and muscular, dressed in travel-worn attire and boots caked with mud. A sword rested at his waist, and a bow hung over his shoulder. Stubble of a beard was on his jaw, tousled brown hair reaching down to just above his shoulders. The meager moment that his gaze was on me was like an eternity; his eyes were brilliant and penetrating, set in a handsome but grimy face.

A frown teased his noble features — he looked to my ears and realized that I was a daughter of Man. When at last he turned his attention again to Merry, I slowly relaxed, my lips parted into a perfect "O." He was absolutely stunning.

Merry began, "Who — "

Dismissively, Frodo waved to the Ranger. "Go on, Merry. This is a friend of Gandalf's. I'll explain later."

"The Black Rider seemed to make east up the Road," said Merry cautiously, frowning at Aragorn. "I tried to follow, but of course it vanished. I went around the corner and on as far as the last house on the Road."

Aragorn smiled kindly. "You have a stout heart, little hobbit, but that was foolish."

"I don't know about that," Merry shrugged, standing up straight and wiping his brow. "Neither brave or silly, I think. I could hardly help myself, and even Jo tried to stop me. I seemed to be drawn somehow. At any rate, I went, and suddenly I heard voices by the hedge. One was muttering and the other was whispering, or hissing. I couldn't hear a word that was said."

"I heard them," I spoke up uncertainly. Strider's head bent toward mine, his weaponry rustling, and I had to stop the jolt of excitement that ran through me. "One said something about the five of us being at _The Pony_, and the other said that he would need no more information. The second one was definitely the Rider."

"You're sure?" moaned Pippin. "They know we're here, then?"

"They must," said Merry. "Jo ran and got away, but when I tried to escape I began to tremble all over. Something came behind me, and I… I fell over."

"I found them, sir," puffed Nob, still struggling for air. "Mr. Butterbur sent me out with a lantern. I went down to West-gate, and then back up towards South-gate. Just by Bill Ferny's house I met the Lady. Down the road there it looked to me as if two men was stooping over something. I gave a shout, but when we got to the spot there was no signs of them, and only Mr. Brandybuck lying by the roadside. As soon as I had roused him, he got up and ran back here like a hare."

Frodo was turning gravely from one of us to the next. Merry flushed and shifted embarrassedly. "I couldn't help it — I had an ugly dream and went to pieces. I don't know what came over me, Frodo."

"I do," said Aragorn solemnly, his hand on the hilt of his sword. "The Black Breath. The Riders must have left their horses outside, and crept back through the gate. They will know everything now. Something may happen tonight, before you leave Bree."

"What will happen?" challenged Merry dubiously. "Will they attack the inn?"

"No, that is not their way," Aragorn answered. "They will not openly attack a house where there are lights and many people — not until they are desperate. But their power is in terror, and already some in Bree are in their clutches."

Frodo sagged. "What are we going to do?"

"Stay here — don't go to your rooms," Aragorn said. "They are sure to have found out which they are. We will remain here together and bar this window and the door. Nob and I will fetch your luggage."

The man and the hobbit went quickly outside into the hallway, and I moved to the fireplace to warm my frozen hands. Pippin and Sam informed us of all that had happened in our absence; in the common room, Pippin had drunk a good deal of ale and almost given away too much information about the Bagginses and Bilbo's Disappearance. Frodo, trying to stop the young Took, had made a fool of himself by singing one of Bilbo's old songs.

"I had gotten overexcited by the second verse, and I jumped on a table. I came down on a tray, fell, and — and somehow the Ring slipped onto my finger."

"That must have been a surprise to the Men," I joked weakly. I was feeling slightly sickened by everything. My stomach was tightening into painful cramps, and I could not get myself warm. "Where's that letter that Gandalf left for us?"

"Here it is," said Samwise, handing the stiff paper to me.

The heading read, "THE PRANCING PONY, BREE. Midyear's Day, Shire Year, 1418." Gandalf's graceful handwriting filled nearly all of the page in his description of Strider and his warnings of danger. I read the words _All that is gold does not glitter_ with silent relish, thinking how jealous any Tolkien fan would be of me at that moment.

"We're a bit late in getting this, aren't we?" I said, giving the letter to Merry.

"We know," agreed Frodo. "We could have been in Rivendell, with the Elves, by now."

"When _are_ we going to leave?" I asked worriedly.

"Tomorrow, at dawn, Miss Jo," said Sam. "Breakfast is at six thirty."

"Strider is to be our guide," Frodo informed. "He will lead us toward Weathertop and then on to Rivendell. Gandalf has gone missing somehow, and Strider hopes that he will follow us there."

"Weathertop," I echoed dismally, watching flames lick at the bottom of the chimney flue. It almost seemed too soon for the name to be mentioned. "How far away is that?"

"It's a hill, about halfway between here and Rivendell," Samwise said helpfully.

Merry was shaking his head at Gandalf's letter by the time Nob and Strider came back lugging our packs and extra clothing. "Well, Masters," said Nob with a grin, "I've ruffled up the clothes and made a nice imitation of your head with a brown woolen mat, Mr. Bag — Underhill, sir."

"Very lifelike," Pippin praised from his perch in an armchair, unable to disapprove the idea of a good prank. "But what will happen when they have penetrated the disguise?"

"We will find that out in the morning," said Aragorn, placing the baggage on the floor. He gestured for Sam. "Mr. Gamgee, help me push this table against the door. Shut the windows, and make your beds across the rugs."

"Good night," bade Nob. "I'm off to act as lookout."

"Good night," we said, and I went to the opposite side of the room to pull the windows closed. The glass suddenly appeared very thin and worthless, inadequate protection against the iron fists of Black Riders. I swallowed hard as I snapped the bolts in place.

Aragorn hurried up behind me, boots clunking on the wooden floor, closing the heavy shutters over the panes and drawing the curtains together. As he moved away, his fingers brushed my shoulder.

The hobbits stretched out on their makeshift beds, feet toward the fireplace. I settled next to Frodo on a lumpy quilt near Aragorn, where the heat of our fire radiated, though I was not ready for sleep.

"_The cow jumped over the moon_?" Merry was chuckling, referring to the song that Frodo had sung in the common room earlier. He snuggled into his pillow. "It sounds ridiculous, Frodo. The people of Bree will be discussing it a hundred years from now."

Strider, sitting in a straight-backed chair with his sword across his legs, allowed his lips to curl faintly. "I hope so, Mr. Brandybuck."

One by one, my hobbits ceased their talk and drifted into uneasy slumber, but I remained staring up at the ceiling on my blanket, arms crossed over my stomach. Aragorn watched me closely, smoking a pipe. The smell of the acrid pipe-weed reminded me of Gandalf and Bilbo; remembering their kind and familiar faces was encouraging, yet it was not enough to banish the relentless images of the Nazgûl from my head.

"Milady, you should try to rest," the Ranger said softly after some time, surprising me out of my thoughts — the only other sound had been the fire's crackling. He leaned forward over me, elbows propped on his knees.

"I don't think I could," I said with a small, apprehensive smile. "My friends might sleep through anything, but I don't have the character of a hobbit."

"Nor the feet or ears…" he pointed out, adding shrewdly, "… Lady Jorryn."

I sat up, careful not to stir Frodo. Aragorn's hand, holding his pipe, was inches away from my face, and his features stood out sharply in the light of the fire. If I had only just come from my own time and place, and had not obtained some of the hobbits' innate ability for conversation, I would have simply sat staring at the beautiful man forever. But I had gained some bravery during my time in Middle-earth.

"You talk as though you know for certain who I am," I said warily, incapable of hiding my pleasure at such a possibility.

He nodded, his deep, burning gaze searching mine. "Gandalf has spoken of you and your knowledge, just as he has spoken of the Ring. I knew who you were when I realized that you were aware I was following you on the Road."

"Well, not really _aware_, sire. I knew that you would be coming into Bree with us, and I just… I just watched for you," I admitted haltingly, uncomfortable with telling him so much about my knowledge.

Aragorn smirked around his pipe. "You are a unique lady, Jorryn."

"Thank you," I said, blushing vibrantly. I went on ineptly, not able to look into his face, "I sometimes wish — that I didn't know anything, sire. I wonder how things would be different."

His pipe slowly traveled away from his lips, and I reddened even more under his long and careful scrutinizing. At last, he asked gently, "Do you fear yourself, Lady Jorryn?"

"Do I — do what?" I fumbled self-consciously with a loose thread on the coverlet over my legs. "I don't know what you mean — should I?"

He bowed his head. "No, Milady. Please forgive me, I meant no harm."

"No, it's fine, I just… I suppose I am afraid of what I could do to all of you, and… everything else. That's all."

"You would not have made it so far if you had not possessed some strength of will, Milady," he said comfortingly in his low, accented tone. "I trust that you will do everything in your power to keep the future of Middle-earth safe."

The weight of his faith and reliance fell heavily on my shoulders, and I nodded hesitantly. "I will try, sire."

He smiled a little and gestured with his pipe back to my pillow. "You should rest, Lady Jorryn. I will wake you in the morning."

"Thank you."

As I settled back under my quilts, burrowing into the warmth next to Frodo, I gave a sigh and pushed my old, nagging worries to the back of my mind. Aragorn, son of Arathorn, was here; and he, a future king, trusted me with my secrets. That was enough reassurance to get me through my first night against the Ringwraiths.

I fell asleep within moments.


	25. Weathertop

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own any of Tolkien's characters or the world he created. The only character of mine (Jorryn) has decided to take a holiday in Tolkien's Middle-earth. No copyright infringement on any of J. R. R. Tolkien's works is intended.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **As you all can probably imagine, this was a somewhat difficult chapter for me to write. I wasn't sure where to end it, and I didn't want to leave anything out — and I wanted to get to Weathertop, where there is a major turning point in this story. A much deserved thanks goes to **ArwenAria18**, who graciously beta-read part of this chapter before my posting, to **Architeuthis** for giving me helpful input and suggestions, and also to all who have reviewed. You guys are **wonderful**. :) So, without further ado, here is Chapter 24 of _Time Will Tell_, which will hopefully meet all of my readers' expectations.

**24**

_Awake! Fear, fire, foes! Awake!_

The echoes of a blaring horn fading from my mind, I jerked myself out of my nightmares and sat straight up, feeling hard wooden flooring on my back and blankets twisted about my legs. For a moment I did not remember where I was — but then I saw Aragorn Elessar sitting and watching me, sword still across his lap. Gray morning light and a cold breeze were both intruding our parlor at _The Prancing Pony _through our round, open window, and dying embers were crackling in the blackened hearth.

"You slept well?" Aragorn asked immediately.

"Passably," I shivered, blinking away sleep. "What time is it?"

"Almost six o'clock, Lady Jorryn. Please get them up," the man ordered, nodding to the hobbits snoring next to me. He pushed himself to his feet, making almost no noise, and proceeded to move a table away from the entrance to our room, where we had pushed it up to bar the door.

Tiredly, I rubbed a crick in my lower neck and grimaced down at Frodo, curled up at my side. He slept with his lips slightly parted and one hand under his dark, curly head. I nudged him gently, resisting the urge to reach over and smooth his hair over his forehead. "Frodo, it's time to wake up," I murmured. In response, the hobbit rolled over, stirring Pippin, who twitched and kicked Sam awake.

"What is it, what do you need?" Samwise cried dazedly, scrambling hastily out of the blankets. Merry moaned and pulled his quilt over his face, muttering about the early hour.

"All of you," I said louder, "get up, it's morning!"

"We're awake!" they growled, answering my wake-up call with a barrage of pillows.

My hobbits reluctantly roused themselves, dressed, and wandered around the parlor while Strider straightened the room and I stood gazing fretfully outside into the cloudy sunrise. I had changed into my borrowed breeches and shirt, adding one of my own jackets to help ward off the chill.

Pippin crept up behind me. "What are you watching for, Jo?" he asked gently, slipping his patterned scarf around his neck.

"I'm not really sure," I admitted with a tiny laugh. A puff of steam escaped with my breath, and I pulled my jacket around me more tightly. "I don't know what I'm waiting for."

"If it's breakfast, then you won't find it out there." The Took reached up and promptly twisted my hair into a short, tight braid. "Nob should be around any minute."

Frodo overheard us. "I'd hate to keep waiting here for him."

"Then let us see what has happened outside during the night," Aragorn suggested, and he took us all to our vacant bedrooms.

It was not an encouraging sight. The rooms were cold, for the windows had been pried open during the night and left splintered and smashed. Feathers swirled in the wind, loosed from the mattresses lying gashed on the floor, and there were marks on the walls that looked to be from the hewing of long, cold blades. Aragorn inspected the damage grimly and then left without a word to find Mr. Butterbur.

Merry stepped over a destroyed bolster. "Lucky thing we took the advice of that Strider, don't you think?"

Frodo looked stricken. "Look at all this…" he whispered, gaping.

"It's going to be all right, Frodo," I said weakly, trying to reassure both him and myself.

The hobbit smiled a little, his countenance pale. "You know I believe you, Jo, though you must understand… it's difficult."

A dismayed voice suddenly sounded from down the hall. "But… I didn't close an eye all night, sir!"

Aragorn reappeared with Barliman Butterbur in tow. The innkeeper was still in his disheveled nightgown, eyes bloodshot and fearful. "I didn't hear a sound — " he was saying, but he stopped short at his first glimpse of the ruined room.

"It seems you have had unwanted visitors at _The Prancing Pony_, Mr. Butterbur," said Aragorn.

The poor man circled around to face us, appalled. "Never has such a thing happened in my time! Guests unable to sleep in their beds — and good rooms ruined! What are we coming to?"

"Dark times," answered Strider. "But for the present you may be left in peace. We must leave at once. Never mind about breakfast — a drink and quick bite will do." The hobbits groaned, and my stomach gurgled in protest. "We will be ready a few minutes."

The man nodded, looking down at me, his face saying, _You're actually going along with all this, Miss?_

A dreary panic took hold of me as I rushed back numbly to our parlor. Quickly I began grabbing articles of clothing and stuffing them into my backpack, careful of my journal and drawings. I was helping Sam fit our blankets into one of the saddlebags by the time Butterbur burst in again, having just gone to the stables to prepare our ponies. The innkeeper's frazzled whiskers stuck out in tufts.

"Masters, your ponies have gone missing!" he cried. "Every horse in the place has been let loose!"

"What?" demanded Frodo and Aragorn at the same time. The Baggins drooped visibly. "How?"

"The Riders didn't forget to do anything, did they?" I said dryly, grimacing.

"What are we to do?" said Merry.

The two men stood, carefully examining us for a long time. On me Strider's eyes remained the longest, his narrow gaze discerning and persistent. He seemed to be wondering if I could survive the dangerous journey across the lands to Rivendell. "Ponies would not have helped us escape the Riders," he decided slowly. "We should not go much slower on foot — not on the roads I mean to take."

Despondent, Frodo implored of Barliman, "Can't anything be done, Mr. Butterbur? Can't we get a couple of ponies in the village, or even just one for the baggage?"

Barliman scratched his balding head. "I doubt it, sir. But I'll do what I can."

"Thank you," said Aragorn, bowing slightly toward the landlord. "But so ends all hope of slipping away quietly. This was part of their plan, no doubt."

"Well, some good came of it," said Merry, plopping down at our dining table. "We can have breakfast while we wait, at least!"

I was hungry, but I did not eat more than a piece of toast. There was little talk; the hobbits kept glancing nervously to me, and all I could think about was Weathertop. I couldn't imagine what I was going to do when we were attacked there — hiding was an option foremost in my mind, mostly because of my own anxiety, though there was also the risk of changing something in the Story. If Frodo were not wounded at Weathertop, then the Nazgûl might find another, more terrible way to hurt him before we reached Rivendell.

Oh, but what was I going to _do_? How could I endure the presence of the Nazgûl? How would I react to seeing Frodo, a hobbit I loved so dearly, get wounded by a servant of Sauron?

I closed my eyes against the painful vision, hearing Aragorn say, "You must eat something, Jorryn."

Bob and Mr. Butterbur entered shortly after, with news of just one pony for sale — Bill Ferny's half-starved packhorse.

"I'll pay for it, little masters," said Barliman.

"Thank you," we all said, and I almost hugged the man. He gave us eighteen silver pennies, which was more than enough.

It was nearly ten o'clock when we finally set out, and every citizen of the village must have decided that they needed to come out and send us off. I guessed that they had heard of Frodo's little accident with the Ring the night before, of the Black Riders, and of the raided stables. In the middle of the crowded street I saw Alfirin Wood, who had given us directions to _The Pony._ She waved to me and called eagerly, "Is it true, Miss? What they're all saying?"

In the cool morning sunlight I only squinted and smiled slightly at her. I thought later that the girl would have been a good friend — she reminded me a lot of myself. Otherwise I was very embarrassed to have so many eyes on us as we thanked Butterbur, Nob, and Bob for all that they had done. I stood close between Aragorn and Frodo.

Frodo shook the innkeeper's hand solemnly. "I hope we will meet again, when things are merry once more."

My companions turned to make their way down the main road, but I paused for a moment with Barliman. "Take care of yourself, Miss," he said.

"Thank you, sir, I will. And thanks again for everything." I stuck one thumb under the leather shoulder strap of my heavy backpack, wishing I could do something for the man.

"No trouble at all, Miss," he assured. "And of course, you're welcome to stay at _The Pony_ if you would rather wait for your companions to return. It's awful that they're making you travel with them, if you don't mind my saying so."

"Oh, no," I said. "I _want_ to stay with them."

Mr. Butterbur smiled gloomily and nodded.

The villagers must have considered our departure to be some sort of show. They yelled and hooted, throwing nasty comments at us from where they stood on the side of the road or hung out of windows. The hobbits kept their heads down, and Sam encouraged our new pony to ignore the especially rude remarks. Strider was able to silence some with a sharp look.

"I can't believe this. Why won't they leave us alone?" I murmured to Samwise, trudging behind Merry and Pippin.

He offered me an apple. "Don't worry yourself about it, Miss Jo. I reckon they'll forget about us by tomorrow."

* * *

Bree-hill stood behind us, plain and brown, rising out of the surrounding trees like a sunburned, hairless head. It was not a place that had been given enough time to nestle itself appropriately in my heart, but in a strange way, I would miss Bree and its colorful inhabitants, especially Barliman Butterbur.

Other villages peeked at us from lower grounds between tree branches, and from the Road we could see smoke rising above the edge of the Chetwood. Aragorn led us noiselessly along the Great East Road until we came to a narrow track leading north into the woods. "This is where we leave the open and take to cover," he said, and I took one more fleeting look back at Bree before ducking under the trees and shrubbery. I got the feeling that, even with our grand send-off, the village would never think of us again. These people would go on living while others fought for their freedom.

"This isn't another 'short cut,' I hope," said Pippin. "Our last short cut nearly ended in disaster."

"Ah, but you didn't have me with you, then," Aragorn said, laughing softly. Leaves crunched under his booted feet. "My cuts, short or long, don't go wrong. We'll bear toward Archet at first, but then turn to pass it on the east and steer straight for Weathertop."

I tried to focus on any other word of Aragorn's description of our road, in order to prevent the dark, foreboding hill of Amon Sûl from invading my thoughts. Pippin turned toward me, hearing me whisper determinedly, "Archet, Archet, Archet…"

The next two days were peaceful and without incident, and this cheered the hobbits greatly. I kept Weathertop out of my mind by watching Frodo, Sam, Pippin, and Merry and thinking of what had brought us all thus far. At the end of a long day, when the last rays of the sun were fading to deep pinks and violets over the Sea, I would observe the radiance of our small bonfire playing upon the hobbits' features. Sam was often silent and thoughtful, a pipe in his hand when a dish or bowl was not. Meriadoc was the spirited and playful one, always telling of some misadventure he'd gotten Pippin and himself into, and Peregrin would regularly interject to add comments of his own. And Frodo… he usually seated himself beside me if he was not back in the shadows with Aragorn.

I had been with Frodo Baggins for many months, and he was my closest friend, but talking to him during those days before Weathertop made my stomach churn. I felt like a traitor, keeping such knowledge of his future to myself. I would have loved to do anything to save Frodo from what was ahead of him, at the risk of destroying all that Tolkien had created.

But I couldn't. I _couldn't_. I had to tell myself every day.

Once, Gandalf had warned Frodo that I was nearly as precious and dangerous as the Ring itself. "If you choose to travel with her, be wary," he had said. And I hated the thought that Frodo may later regret his choice to bring me along.

At any rate, the Baggins sensed my sudden coldness toward him, and refrained from most conversation. It was enough that he simply be there alongside me.

We reached the Midgewater Marshes our third day away from Bree. The weather grew chilly, and fog hung over our heads threateningly. The land was damp and boggy. Aragorn led us as best he could around the quagmires, having to go slow for all the irregular, treacherous ground. It was terrible — the entire day was spent tripping through pools of clammy water and having our clothes soaked to our skin. Even Aragorn stumbled once or twice in the festering marshes.

Then came the flies in relentless hordes, settling in our hair and clothing or whatever other small place they could find, buzzing in our ears and biting exposed flesh. The air around us was filled with groups of the nasty midges.

"I'm being eaten alive!" shouted Pippin, scratching furiously.

My bangs were plastered over my face, and my Dwarven boots made _squelching _sounds with every step. "No kidding," I sputtered.

Sam, bringing up the rear with our reluctant pony, shook the gnats out of his matted curls. "What do they live on when they can't get hobbit?"

By the time night fell we were soaked and freezing. We made a quick camp on an uncomfortable patch of land surrounded by reeds and water, Aragorn sitting over us as a sentry, staying up to keep watch as normal. There were horrible, evil crickets hiding in the reeds around us, chirping incessantly. I rested awkwardly on my back, squeezing my eyes shut against the noise and darkness.

"Jo," came a gentle voice at my ear.

I tilted my head. "Yes, Frodo?"

"Is something the matter?"

I rolled over to face him, not sure how to respond. The only light remaining in the sky was the moon's gloomy blue glow, and Frodo's gaze was gleaming from under his dark eyelashes. His breath drifting across my cheeks, the hobbit persisted, "Have I done something to upset you?"

"Oh no, Frodo, of course you haven't," I said, the words spilling remorsefully from my heart. "No, you haven't done anything."

"You haven't said much since leaving Bree," he pointed out hesitantly. He huddled deeper into his blankets.

"I — haven't had anything to say." At his innocently curious expression, I sighed, almost reaching out to brush hair away from his face; I stopped myself. "I'm sorry, Frodo, I'm just… preoccupied."

"Oh," he whispered. He shifted onto his back. A few more seconds went by, and then he said, "I'm sorry, Jo. For everything."

All at once, I was forced to suppress tears. How many times had he apologized to me for what the Ring had caused? In a few days, _I _would be the one begging his forgiveness. "Frodo…" I murmured, my throat constricting into a painful knot. I turned away from him. "Don't be sorry — please."

Our whispered conversation lapsed into silence, and the crickets seemed to become an even louder annoyance. They went on until dawn.

The succeeding day was somewhat better than the one before. I fell chin-deep into a slimy puddle before midday, and the ruthless midges followed us all the way to our campsite that night, but we _had_ left the crickets behind at last. We ate our supper in a weary daze, falling into our makeshift beds immediately afterward.

I was halfway to my dreams when I felt Frodo sit up. "What is that light?" I heard him ask. "Dawn is still hours away."

"I don't know," was Aragorn's answer. "It's too distant to make out." I peered at them sleepily from under my quilts, trying to see what they were speaking of. I could barely perceive the brilliant flashing of something like lightning at the edge of the atmosphere.

From the shifting beside me, I could tell that Frodo had settled down again, so I went back to the beginnings of my uneasy slumber without a second thought.

Thankfully, we left the Midgewater Marshes behind on our fifth day away from Bree. The land began to rise under our feet, and in the distance toward to the east was a row of ancient hills. There was one knoll overshadowing them all — one rocky, misshapen hill, strewn with the skeletons of a long-forgotten watchtower. Its pinnacle was flattened.

"Weathertop," said Strider, his hair and leather jerkin flapping in the morning breeze. "The Old Road, which we have left far away on our right, runs to the south of it and passes not far from its foot. We may reach it by noon tomorrow."

"Do you think Gandalf is waiting there?" asked Frodo.

"Perhaps, but it wouldn't be safe for him or for us to wait there long."

That day and the next were filled with nothing but travel. The hobbits, whose spirits had been dampened by the Marshes, were in much better moods, and soon the hills and plains were filled with their songs and tales again. Pippin stopped complaining about getting less than five meals a day, even. My hobbits were growing more rugged; I remembered our trip to Tuckborough and how they had thought it was quite a trek.

Night fell quickly, and we stopped at the feet of the hills. I slipped away after dinner to write a bit in my journal, for it had been neglected since sneaking away from Crickhollow. My entry was short and rushed, and I did not write much more than the date (October 5) along with what progress we had made. Two words I scratched out hastily at the foot of the page: _Weathertop tomorrow_.

Just before noontime on the seventh day, Merry asked about the craggy ruins riddling the hills. We had found a hidden path to follow through the clefts and mounds, and huge stones were set close together on either side of us.

Aragorn paused, turning, and his eyes narrowed a little when they passed over me. I was at the back of the procession with Sam and the pony, my fingers curled over the animal's tangled mane. "This path was made to serve the forts along the walls. But long before, they built a great watchtower on Weathertop. They called it Amon Sûl."

I shivered involuntarily. Aragorn seemed to spot the delicate shaking of my shoulders.

Midday came. We arrived at the feet of Weathertop itself.

We were hiking out in the open now, away from the concealment of the broken boulders, but I stopped for several moments, leaning back to stare at the massive rise. Its slopes were covered in a sickly green-gray turf, and the ring of ruins stood like a shattered crown on its top.

"I hate you," I said bitterly.

On the western flank of the hill, we found a small dell in a deep, grassy hollow. Aragorn surveyed our surroundings. "There is no sign of Gandalf here."

"Maybe he camped at the top?" suggested Merry, pointing.

It was decided that Merry, Frodo, and Aragorn would climb to the summit of Weathertop, while Sam, Pippin, and I stayed behind in the glade with our pony and everyone's gear and provisions. After several minutes, Pippin grew curious and wandered away from our resting place. He disappeared around a cluster of bushes, and then yelled to us.

"Look at all these footprints! I wonder if Gandalf has been here."

The prints were heavy and broad. I imagined iron-tipped boots smashing into the soil, hooves of great black steeds pawing the ground nearby. "I don't think those belong to Gandalf," I said cautiously.

A little farther away, we came upon the remains of a tiny bonfire, and behind some fallen rocks was a neatly arranged pile of firewood. There was also a fresh spring hidden in the hillside. "Whoever put this here meant to come back, it seems," remarked Sam.

It was half an hour before our other three companions returned, their faces flushed and fearful. They had crept speedily down the hill, driven by some dreadful panic.

"The Black Riders are on the Road," Frodo panted to us, "only a few miles away."

"They are?" I tightened my grip on the pony's bridle, blood draining from my cheeks.

"They might have been here already, then," said Pippin. Dimly, I watched the hobbit lead Aragorn to the tracks we had found.

Within a couple of minutes, Strider had deduced that there were two separate sets of tracks. "Rangers have been here lately," he said. "They left the firewood. But there are also several newer tracks that were not made by Rangers."

"Was Gandalf ever here?" asked Pippin.

"He left a stone on Weathertop bearing his mark," said Frodo.

Sam frowned. "Hadn't we better get out quick, Mr. Strider?"

The man took a moment to consider our options. Humid air had dampened his hair, but even when it hung about his unshaven jaw in disheveled strands, he looked beautiful and proud. _This is it_, I thought.

"I don't like this place either, Sam," he concluded finally, "but I can't think of anywhere better that we could reach before nightfall. We are hidden here."

"Can the Riders… _see_?" asked Merry.

"They do not see the world of light as we do, but our shapes cast shadows in their minds. And," he said, his tone softening as he bent over Frodo, "the Ring draws them."

The hobbit blanched, his vivid blue eyes the only spot of color on his face. "Is there no escape, then?" he stammered. "If I move, I'll be seen and hunted! If I stay, they'll be drawn to me!"

"Don't lose hope," comforted Strider. "You are not alone. There is little shelter or defense here, but we have fire. They are afraid of it."

"Fire is also a good way of saying 'Here we are,' as far as I can tell," mumbled Sam, moving to loosen supplies from our pony's saddle. I couldn't help grinning at the Gamgee.

* * *

In a ineffective attempt to keep fear out of our thoughts, Aragorn told us the story of Beren and Tinúviel — a sad tale, and not very inspiring. The sun had set orange and angry behind thunderheads which capped the atmosphere. Now stars pinpricked the ink-black heavens above us, and the clouds gave way to silver moonlight. The hobbits and I sat around our fire bundled in every cloak and blanket we had, while Aragorn was fit with his regular cape and curved pipe. Our meal was meager, for Aragorn warned us that our food had to last us to Rivendell. I couldn't eat much, anyway.

Aragorn slipped away from us again. Frodo sighed despairingly through his extra layers of clothing. "Rivendell seems little more than a dream right now. Will we ever reach it, I wonder?"

I spotted his toes sticking out delightfully under the bottom hem of his cloak. He would always be adorable, I decided, no matter the circumstances. "I think we will, Frodo."

His mouth quirked a little. "Is it uncertain even in your mind?"

Weakly, I returned his smirk. "You know I couldn't tell you, even if it were."

The other hobbits were stretching. "Look," said Meriadoc, nodding to the sky above an overhanging, vine-covered crag. Silvery radiance poured into our dell. "The Moon's rising… it must be getting late."

Aragorn came back, his lips pulled into a thin line. He said sharply, "Be wary, all of you. Stay here, sitting with your backs to the fire. Light some torches and have your blades ready." Going by me, he touched my shoulder. "Take heart," he whispered.

"What's the matter, Strider?" called Pippin after him, but he had gone.

With trembling fingers, I reached for the smooth hilt of the sword given to me by Bombadil. My stomach churned and twisted in nauseating apprehension, and numbness inched into my limbs. The hobbits, pallid in the firelight, peered into the gray night stolidly. I could not believe that Aragorn had left us alone.

Samwise was staring out between the undergrowth, through the little opening of our hiding place, which revealed the misty lands extending away from the Weather Hills. "I don't know what it is," he said unexpectedly, "but I suddenly I feel afraid."

I opened and closed my mouth dumbly, and Frodo demanded in a hiss, "Did you _see_ anything, Sam?"

Acting on the impulsive and foolish logic that was characteristic of hobbits, Merry slid forward on his hands and knees, holding his torch above the shrubbery. He pushed aside a bough obscuring his view.

"There are two or three black shapes moving this way," he muttered after some time, the words breaking.

"Where is Strider?" said Pippin, his accented tone seeming even higher in pitch than natural. "What are we going to do?"

"Surely he would have gone up to Weathertop to see out over the land," said Frodo hurriedly.

"He told us to stay here," said Samwise.

I kept myself quiet; not only had fear taken my voice, but I was also still feebly worried about changing something. The hobbits had to make their own decisions, I told myself.

"Let's move up," ordered Frodo, giving the slope below us one last glimpse. He pulled me to my feet and began to climb, dragging me behind him.

The hobbits and I rushed up the hillside, running the whole way. _Don't look back, don't look back_, I told myself, the mantra coming in rhythm with our rushed footfalls. The wind picked up and the long grasses rustled around us, the stars winking blurrily overhead. We didn't dare to call out to Aragorn, for fear of making the Riders' pursuit even less difficult.

Finally, out of breath and energy, we ascended a crumbling set of aged steps and came into the charred circle that was the remnant of the tower of Amon Sûl. Dirt, vines, and dry mossy turf had overtaken the statues and pillars left standing there, and small plants were growing through cracks in the weathered floor. Aragorn was nowhere to be seen.

"Hide, Jo!" shouted Frodo frenziedly. He shoved me roughly behind a sculpture that had collapsed at the edge of the old ring, a statue of a man cracked at the waist from its plinth. I crouched behind the faceless stone figure, sitting up just enough to see my hobbits cluster themselves together in the center of the hilltop. I tried to swallow the terrible, raw panic mounting in my throat, attempting to gain control over myself. I couldn't complete a coherent thought, I had to get a hold of myself —

On each side of me, the fog stirred. I froze.

Five Ringwraiths materialized like black ghosts at the lip of Weathertop Hill, mist uncurling at their feet as if it, also, were afraid of coming too near. Close enough for me to touch, the figures stood looking down at the hobbits a moment or two, and then glided noiselessly past my place of concealment. I barely dared to breathe, so great was the terror stricken into my heart and limbs; my entire form shuddered and quaked. _They'll see me — they'll see me_, I thought, choking on a whimper.

I flung myself down under the statue and saw metal-clad feet stride by, the wisps of a tattered black cloak trailing behind. The Nazgûl were hunched, but looming, and the pitch-black sky behind them appeared to pale against their purer darkness. I heard the smooth, harsh ring of many blades being drawn at once.

The hobbits remained, quavering and powerless, under the five Riders. Merry and Pippin stood with their shoulders together, their weapons wavering before them. The Nazgûl reached out and grabbed the pair, throwing them to opposite sides of the circle effortlessly. Sam shrank at Frodo's side, obviously petrified. Yet he raised his sword and cried viciously, "Get back!"

One Ringwraith's sword came down upon him, audibly _cutting_ the air, and though Sam managed to parry, the force of it threw him off balance. The clashing of the blades left a deafening, ominous peal in my ears. Samwise was cast aside by another well-aimed blow, and Frodo was left unaided.

All of this I watched with my cheek pressed to the wet, rough ground. Rains had fallen recently, leaving puddles in the granite flagstones. Mud smeared my skin; I could see Frodo's sword drop across the stones with a clatter, and his feet, tripping backward and bringing him to the ground. He struggled with his twisted cloak, dragging himself with an elbow, the other hand straying to the breast pocket of his vest… and the Ringwraiths advanced.

_No, Frodo, don't_… He brought out the Ring in a dim flash of gold, straining with the fierce desire to put it on. My own heart wrenched at the sight of it, and silent tears ran through the grime thick on my cheeks, burning my eyes.

Frodo's stare was wild and panic-stricken as he looked up at the Nazgûl from the ground, the Ring still clutched in his fingers. The five Riders seemed to be longingly regarding their master's treasure, and Frodo noticed. He drew farther back, grimacing, simultaneously fighting the Ring's will and his own. At last, the Ring took him, and the hobbit disappeared.

The Ringwraiths started slightly, as though surprised. I crushed my face into the earth, a bitter shriek fighting into my throat. Even with my limited view of the hobbits and the Nazgûl, I saw the largest of the Black Riders move forward, a dull, short knife in one hand. He bore down on a bare spot of gravel, and suddenly I could hear Frodo's voice shouting something in Elvish.

Three screams pierced the night air, then: One was the Ringwraith's, as Frodo struck at its booted feet with his sword. The shrill, earsplitting cry drove into my brain like a spike. The second voice was Frodo's, who became visible again with an agonized sob, his features ashen, shaking hands grabbing at his arm and shoulder.

The third scream was mine.

Sam, Merry, and Pippin had rushed to the Baggins, muttering senselessly, trying to do what they could for him. Samwise was holding his master's hand, blubbering uncontrollably.

And I had scrambled to my feet. I screeched, my heart tearing in two, "Frodo, no!"

Five Nazgûl whirled to face me.

"The Daughter of Man," one of them whispered in a deadly, chilling voice.

The creatures stared long at me, cold and unfeeling. The air was stolen from my lungs, and all sensation fled from my burning limbs. My mind unraveled — at the tapering fringes of my consciousness, I could think of nothing, nothing but the dark and the shadows, nothing but evil and death — I wasn't even sure what was happening —

The tallest, the one that had stabbed Frodo, came to stand in front of me, limping faintly. A gauntleted hand reached out and gripped my neck, not quite firmly enough to strangle me, but enough to cause significant pain, and from somewhere inside the Ringwraith's deep cowl there was a hiss.

"Man-daughter… you possess certain knowledge that could be of great help to the Lord of Mordor."

Terror surged through me like a poisonous rush of electricity. They knew. _They knew about me _—

I tore my gaze away from the obscurity of the Nazgûl's hood; fear made me envision the crowned, ghostly head invisible within the black shadows. My pulse pounded against the fingers closed about my throat. I felt the tattered hems of the Rider's heavy cloak graze my leg, and I shuddered, filled with inexplicable horror.

_Gandalf_.

Over the Ringwraith's shoulder I glimpsed my hobbits. Sam turned and shouted, "Strider!"

_Gandalf told Saruman not only about the Ring, but about me, as well. And Saruman, in his treachery, had told _Sauron. _They know about me_.

"Please, don't," I sniveled, the words sounding shrill and pitiful in my own ears.

At that moment, Aragorn flew onto the hilltop, his sword and a flaming brand in either hand. The Black Rider flung me away, reaching for its own weapon. Stiffly, I crawled to the place where Frodo and the other hobbits sat, wrestling with the clouded unconsciousness swimming underneath me. I touched Frodo's cold, sweaty brow.

"Frodo, I'm so sorry," I sniffed.

He lifted his unfocused gaze to me. No color was left in his face, and his eyes, which had once been so bright and full of life, were beginning to mist over. "You knew, Jo," he quivered accusingly, his tone no longer sweet or comforting. His accented statement had taken on an edge of iron. "You _knew_."

Merry brushed hair away from my face, asking urgently, "Jo, are you all right?" But I was gaping at Frodo, his words finding a crooked way to my heart and striking sharply and cruelly. Numb, I scooted myself away from him, feeling myself slump under the heaviness of my exhaustion. Slowly, I surrendered and let nothingness take me. I collapsed into Pippin's arms.


	26. Bruinen

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own any of Tolkien's characters or the world he created. The only character of mine (Jorryn) has decided to take a holiday in Tolkien's Middle-earth. No copyright infringement on any of J. R. R. Tolkien's works is intended. Jorryn's friends are mine, also.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** The story continues as Aragorn leads the hobbits and the Lady toward Rivendell. :) As always -- I don't say this enough -- thank you for reading. You guys are awesome. Seeing people refer to themselves as "Frodo/Jo shippers" makes me insane with happiness. We'll have to see what happens...

**25**

I awoke shivering in the light of a thin, pale morning, a heavy hand on my brow and a deep voice coaxing me out of my unpleasant dreams. It was Aragorn, and we were still at the feet of Weathertop hill. I saw the broken crown of Amon Sûl hanging at the top of my vision just as the vicious shadows of my nightmares faded wispily from my mind.

"We're going soon, Jorryn," Aragorn urged, helping me to sit up. His brow was damp with sweat, hair obscuring his fatigued but bright gaze. "You must eat something."

Saying nothing, I wavered and blinked hard. Sunlight, wan in the sky, was fighting to reach us in the dell at Weathertop, where there was a single fire weakly blazing. The air was bitterly cold. Sam, Pippin, and Merry were standing around the camp uncomfortably, while Aragorn was readying our pony.

Shifting, I realized that at my side there was a shuddering form, and after a moment I recognized it as Frodo's. He was turned away from me, but I could see his ashen profile standing out in stark contrast to his woven blankets.

His previous words rushed back to me, and my heart twisted in agony and guilt. I wound the fabric of my shirt between two fingers. Leaning over him as much as I dared, I observed the dark curls tickling his white cheeks, and the parting of his pallid lips. I wanted to put my arms around him, tell him how sorry I was, beg his forgiveness — yet I just looked away. My heart was breaking again.

_A bad dream, a bad dream_, I thought, forcing the memory of Frodo's anger out of my head and futilely attempting to shake off the feeling of a Nazgûl's hand closed around my throat. Raw terror dropped into my stomach like a stone. _I am nobody, this isn't supposed to happen to me_…

"Please forgive me, Frodo," I whispered, closing my eyes to block out tears.

Merry brought me a tin plate of cold biscuits and ham, which I ate quickly before helping the other hobbits pack up our supplies. The entire morning was spent in a tight, painful silence. Frodo, who was too weak to walk, was put on our pony, a cloak wrapped about his slumped and shaking shoulders; his share of our stores was divided among the hobbits and Aragorn. Once the sun had finally risen high enough to spill cool sunlight onto the face of the hill, we set out.

Aragorn led us south, in order to cut out a large loop out of the Road and to stay in wooded country. We heard the Nazgûl once, their ear-piercing cries coming to us from a long way off as we took our shortcut. Frodo was alert enough then to look groggily into the sky and press his hand to the pocket that held the Ring.

Five cheerless days went by without incident, and the horrid Weathertop finally sank beneath the horizon behind us. Frodo spoke some to the others but never to me, growing more ill with every passing hour, sagging in his seat atop our pony at the end of each day. Aragorn took us hurriedly through gray, wild lands where the landscape hardly changed. The Mountains I had admired in the Shire so long ago loomed nearer to us, but they looked harsh and unfeeling, reflecting the frail light of the sun almost angrily.

We turned to the northeast on the sixth day and climbed out of the valley that we had descended into. From this height we saw that the Road slithered away below us, following the curves of a dreary river. We stood around our guide tiredly, and my muscles throbbed. I could feel blisters forming on my toes within my boots.

"We must go back to the Road here for a while," said Aragorn. "We have come now to the River Hoarwell. There's no way over it, except by the Last Bridge."

"What's that other river, there?" wondered Pippin, pointing to a barely discernable channel between the trees.

"That is Loudwater, the Bruinen of Rivendell," said the man as he squinted into the distance. He rested an elbow on the hilt of his angling sword. "It is many miles from the Bridge to the Ford of Bruinen. Let us hope that the Bridge is not held against us."

I wasn't worried, though I couldn't exactly remember if anything was to happen at the Last Bridge. I was tired, too tired to care about anything; we were making a slow way toward Rivendell, and my sleep was plagued by dreams of ghosts coming to strangle me in the dark. The hobbits and I struggled through each long, bleak day grimly, not bothering with songs or tales that would have lightened the mood.

We came to the Last Bridge on our seventh day away from Weathertop, and there were no Riders there to meet us. The Bridge was a large, whitewashed structure supported by three arches, foaming water rushing up to splash on its sides. Here, the air was fresh and cool, but we didn't have time to enjoy it.

Trudging on, we left the Road and entered a dark wood, taking a sinuous, rising path through foothills. Frodo sat pensively on the pony as Samwise led the animal over roots and undergrowth. The forest was dense and soundless, and I got the uneasy feeling that we were the only visitors the place had received in centuries. On the high knolls surrounding us, there were ancient ruins of parapets and bulwarks that cast a weak gloom down on our path.

"Who lives in this land?" Frodo asked softly.

We all turned to the Baggins when he spoke, and Aragorn answered, "No one. Men once dwelt here, ages ago, but none remain now, though a shadow still lies on the land."

I saw the crumbled stone structures through spindly tree branches. Merry asked, "Where did you learn such tales, Strider?"

Strider replied, "Many things are remembered in Rivendell."

"Have you been to Rivendell often, sir?" Sam inquired of the man.

"I dwelt there once, and I still return when I may."

I sighed, thinking of the great Elven place, and Pippin glanced up at me, his emerald eyes catching a glint of sunlight from above. My fingers moved instinctively to the mane of our pony, gently stroking the coarse hairs. I could feel the heaviness of Pip's once-over, his stare probing and concerned, but I pretended not to notice.

Two days later, in a dense and narrow vale between hills, it started to rain. It was a fine but relentless drizzle that went on into our tenth day away from Amon Sûl, leaving us completely drenched by the time night was upon us. We were able to make camp in a high, shallow cave carved into the face of a cliff; the cold and the rain had caused Frodo to become more ill, and we agreed that we shouldn't attempt to climb any more. Sam piled blankets onto his master as soon as we reached the shelter of the shelf, and Strider inspected what was left of our provisions. Pippin and Merry collapsed against the wall, sliding tenderly out of their packs.

I sat near the mouth of the cave, where I could see out over the treetops and feel a chilly mist on my face. Water dripped along the stones at my bare feet and trickled downhill, disappearing into the darkness below. I looked for signs of more sinister shadows under the trees, but saw nothing, and my perpetual fear eased slightly. Only Aragorn knew where we were, for I recognized nothing of the landscape.

The hobbits at my back talked indistinctly among themselves, and my heart ached dully. I wished to find comfort in them, the friends I loved so much, but they were not aware of my knowledge of their futures. Without Frodo to talk to, I felt lost and empty.

"_Willow, weep for me_," I sang quietly, remembering the words from a song of my own time. "_Weep in sympathy… bend your branches green along the stream that runs to Sea…_"

I sniffed, hugging my legs to my chest and resting my chin on my knees. There was a faint shuffling behind me, and a moment later Aragorn was at my side, gazing out into the harsh, wet world with me. Even with filth covering his attire and countenance, he was stoic and proud, and he sat towering over me. He had shed his jacket and cape to rest in a leather vest and plain blue shirt with loose-fitting sleeves.

"Is Frodo all right?" I asked him.

Not bothering to meet my eye, Aragorn removed a pipe from a pocket of his jerkin. He breathed slowly. "His wound is deep, Milady, and we are still a long way from Rivendell. Would you have me say that our situation seems promising, simply for the sake of comfort?"

I ducked my head. "No, sire."

"Or would you even need an answer?"

My expression, hidden from him, tightened. "No," I said again.

He grew silent, tiny embers crackling in his pipe and shedding an orange glow on his chiseled features. After several minutes, I heard him move slightly. "The hobbits worry for you," he said.

"I'm all right," I answered faintly, peeking at them through a crook in my arm. Sam was cooking something over the fire, and Merry and Peregrin were watching soundlessly.

"They understand," Aragorn said, "why the Nazgûl aimed to kill Frodo at Amon Sûl. But they do not know why they would turn on you as well."

I didn't reply, my stomach wrenching at the memory. Tom Bombadil's remark from so long ago came to my mind — he had said, "Your companions do not realize, exactly, what you are, Lady Jorryn," and it was as true now as it had been then.

Aragorn interrupted my thoughts. "The Nazgûl know, don't they?"

I peered up at him. Fumes from the pipe-weed made my eyes burn. "Yes… they know. Sauron knows."

Lightning flashed distantly, exploding across the tumultuous sky and blinding the countryside with a burst of neon violet. I saw the mountains illuminated in the fleeting brightness, their peaks seeming to pierce the clouds. There was a peal of crashing thunder, and suddenly, I sensed the weight of a large, kind hand on my shoulder.

"No harm will come to you, Jorryn," Aragorn said firmly. "You have my word."

"Thank you," I said in surprise, feeling, for the first time in days, a glowing warmth in my heart. Strider nodded.

Reflecting upon the world I had left behind, I cocked my head and decided that it would be safe enough to confide in Aragorn. I bit my lip cautiously. "You know… some people would do anything to be where I am now. But I don't think anybody would want any of _this_." Behind me, Frodo coughed painfully, and I winced.

"No," the man agreed, drawing thoughtfully from his pipe. "You carry a great burden, and already your knowledge has caused some conflict. Nevertheless," he sniffed, "I wonder if Frodo would be alive now if his anger was not keeping him so strong."

I frowned at him, not sure if he was serious, thinking, _Great… that means that Frodo will live just so he can hate me even more when he's well_. I said aloud, trying to keep the sarcasm out of my voice, "That makes me feel a whole lot better."

At last, Aragorn looked directly at me, and I was surprised to notice amusement dancing in his shining eyes.

* * *

By the next morning, the rain had stopped, though the world was still dark and dismal. The whole of Middle-earth appeared to be blanketed in a deep gray cloak, and fog remained in the lowlands. The mountains wore the lingering storm clouds like a veil.

We started off later in the day than usual; my hobbits helped Frodo to eat a meager breakfast, and Aragorn went off to see if he could determine our location more precisely. When he returned he told us that we had come too far north.

"We have to find some way to turn southwards again," he said, lifting bundles from the ground and tying them to our pony. "We could perhaps find our way through and come round to Rivendell from the north, but it would take too long. Our food wouldn't last."

The rest of the day and a good part of the evening were taken up by our struggle through the rocky foothills. We got going in the general direction Strider wanted — southeast — but everything seemed to be getting in our way. The rains had made the stones scattered up the slopes dangerously slick, and there was little vegetation to help with footing, save for short turf and small prickly underbrush. Eventually Frodo had to dismount and scramble along with us, supported by the other hobbits. We reached the summit of the craggy hills well after nightfall.

Once we paused at the top of the ridge, Frodo fell noiselessly to his knees, clinging to his left arm. Merry cried, kneeling next to his friend, "We can't go any further. This has been too much for Frodo. Will they even be able to cure him in Rivendell?"

Strider gazed down at them. "I can do no more for him in the wilderness. Frodo's hope is in Rivendell. But I agree that we can go no further tonight."

I stood next to Aragorn, pulling twigs and grass from my hair. Samwise, just in front of me, clenched his fists helplessly. "What is the matter with Mr. Frodo?" he whispered.

The sun finally reappeared the following day, lifting my spirits a little. There was also news that Strider had spotted Rivendell's Loudwater once again — that meant that the road to the Ford could not be very far.

"We will make for the Road again," Aragorn announced. "Whatever danger may beset it, it is our only way to the Ford."

We began the long climb down the southern slope of the jagged rise. I walked for a long time behind Sam, Frodo, and our pony, watching the hobbits go carefully before me. Frodo looked a bit better. I could tell the fresh air and sun were both helping him. He often rubbed his bloodshot eyes with a grimace, and his entire left side drooped, but he was able to talk to Sam and even manage a smile or two. The Gamgee never let his hand stray from the pony's bridle.

We had a quick lunch among the trees and rocks, taking shelter in the shade, and were soon on our way again. The sun swung high into the clear atmosphere, and light shot down between branches to warm the top of my head. I heard Frodo say to Sam that we were probably traveling on the very road that Gandalf, Bilbo, and the dwarves had taken on their first adventure, so long ago.

Gandalf… he was another one I longed to see again. I did not blame him for telling Saruman about what I knew, just as I could hardly blame Frodo for hating me at that time. I missed the wizard and his calm power, and the way his steady gaze so often fixed itself on me. I wanted very much to be in the company of someone who was _certain _of things.

As the sunshine faded in dull yellows and pinks at the edge of the sky, we came to the Road. There was no one to be seen in either direction until the track curved away between foliage. We slipped down a moist embankment and dropped to the Road's level, finally out of the wilds and back onto something familiar. I almost kissed the packed soil when we reached it, grateful for an easy path, but Strider didn't pause, leading us on hastily now that we were in the open.

Immediately our thoughts turned to finding a campsite for the night. The four hobbits and Aragorn jogged along the side of the path, searching in the deepening twilight for a suitable place off the Road, and I was left pulling our pony behind them. Frodo was panting for breath just above me, a grimace twisting his sallow face. Nearly unconscious, he crumpled in the saddle to fall onto my shoulder, his quivering breath brushing my hand.

"I can't see," he whispered.

"Aragorn!" I called worriedly, cradling the hobbit's head. "Frodo is…"

Samwise, Merry, Pippin, and Aragorn turned, then immediately froze.

My heart stopped. Carried by the evening breeze was an ominous sound — on the Road behind us, there was a horse approaching.

"Get off the Road, quickly," snapped Strider.

The hobbits and I stumbled into the damp underbrush lining the Road, Sam and Merry carrying Frodo, dragging him when he staggered. We crouched awkwardly halfway up the slope, peering between the dripping bushes to the gray, shadowed roadway below. Frodo was propped, rasping, against a tree trunk, his glassy eyes resting unfixed on some spot of ground. Above us, Aragorn waited for the rider to appear with a hand on his sword.

I held my breath as the noise of hooves came closer. There was darkness and death in the soft, foreboding beats; they brought back visions of black figures with hollow voices and cold blades, and hands like iron claws.

"Do you hear that?" Pippin said, breaking the restrained hush.

Tilting my ear, I frowned. It almost seemed that there was something else mixing with the _clippety-clip _of the horse, and it sounded like small, tinkling saddle bells. Aragorn leaned forward.

"That is not a Black Rider's horse," he agreed.

I pushed aside branches and leaves, straining for a view of the rider. Without warning, Aragorn swiftly flew out of cover with a cry and bounded back down to the Road, and only then did I finally see; there was a sleek white horse trotting past in the dusk, carrying a fair rider with shining gold hair. His cloak was open and thrown over his shoulders, and even from there I could catch the brilliance of his gaze. He was looking straight up at us.

The hobbits and I stood doubtfully. I saw the rider jump off his horse and run to meet Aragorn, calling a greeting in Elvish.

"Glorfindel," I remembered suddenly, staring down at the majestic Elf. His sweet, strong voice made me think of being rescued in the woods of the Shire.

We climbed down to the Road, beckoned by Aragorn, and came to stand beneath the Elf. In the presence of a person so striking, I felt horribly grubby and very small. I was sure that my face was soiled and my hair a disaster, but there was nothing I could do. I hoped that he wouldn't notice me. The Elf stood regally, his bright head far above mine.

Aragorn gestured to his friend. "This is Glorfindel, who dwells in Rivendell."

"We meet at last!" the Elf said joyfully. "I was sent by Elrond to look for you. We feared that you were in danger upon the road. We have heard that the Nine were abroad, and that you were bearing a great burden without guidance, for Gandalf had not returned."

"Gandalf has not reached Rivendell?" asked Strider.

"No, he hadn't when I departed, and that was nine days ago." Glorfindel strode to his mount and threw the reins over the noble horse's sleek neck. The saddle bells jingled pleasantly. "But there is no time for news. We must risk the Road. There are five behind us."

I narrowed my eyes at the Elf through the dying light, feeling sick at the news of five Riders in pursuit. Frodo, who was being supported by Merry and Sam, groaned, stumbled forward, and grabbed at Samwise.

The Gamgee caught him and glowered angrily at the Elf. "Mr. Frodo is sick. He can't go on riding — he needs rest!"

Glorfindel knelt and put his arms around Frodo as he dropped to the ground, looking gently and anxiously into the hobbit's face.

"We met several of the Nine at Amon Sûl," explained Aragorn. He removed a bundle from the satchel over his shoulder and unwrapped a dagger-hilt, which was all that was left of the knife the Nazgûl had used to stab Frodo.

The Elf looked at it grudgingly. "Keep it, Aragorn, until we reach the house of Elrond."

He then began to examine the pale scar on Frodo's shoulder, feeling the wound delicately with soothing fingertips.

"Can… can you help him?" Pippin asked timidly.

Glorfindel's head came up, his lips touched by a sympathetic smile. "The wounds of this weapon are beyond my skills. You will ride my horse," he said to Frodo. "If danger comes near, he will bear you away with all speed."

"No," Frodo croaked, the thought of having to ride a horse evidently too much for him. "I can't leave my friends."

"I doubt," the Elf said, pressing his long-fingered hand to the hobbit's brow, "your friends would be in danger if you were not with them. The Riders seek what you carry."

I turned, and Aragorn's dark, shadowed eyes met mine. After a moment, I shook my head slightly, hesitantly. _They'll go for the Ring first_, I thought toward him, hoping with all my might that I was correct.

The man nodded and, without a word, turned to help Frodo onto Glorfindel's white horse, holding the weak hobbit up while the Elf shortened the stirrups. Most of our packs and supplies were put on our pony now that he bore no rider. There was a hasty check for anything left behind, and in a short while we were off again.

The night was deep and without stars, and the air soon grew clammy and frigid. This was not like nights in the Shire, where there was comfort and safety on the Hill in front of Bag End; this night was ruthless, holding no cheer or warmth in the blackness surrounding us on all sides. Strange things chirped at us from the trees, and leaves whispered threateningly in the wind. The dark seemed to go on and on with no end, like a murky dream.

The frail morning came upon us drearily as a drab light that crawled cheerlessly across the sky, but by then we were all half-asleep anyhow and we hardly noticed. Everyone was exhausted. When we finally stopped, Glorfindel told us to sleep in a patch of heather off the Road. I fell down in the wonderful turf only to have Sam throw himself over me and snore loudly into my arm.

It couldn't have been much later when I was shaken awake and told to drink something that stung down my throat and blazed into my limbs, shocking my whole body to life. The others were already up, though they sat around me with their heads hanging wearily, their expressionless faces turned gray by the dull sunlight. My throat hurt and my eyes burned, but I arose, straightening myself, blinking away sleep.

"Eat, Milady," Glorfindel said, and Aragorn, the hobbits, and I dined on what was left of our stores. We were ready to go once more in less than an hour.

The next day was exactly like the one before. The Road passed in front of me, under me, and behind me in a dizzy, sluggish brown blur. I was drained, so very drained, that I soon began to feel a numbness in my legs, and my feet shuffled within my boots. An inky cloud formed along the edges of my vision. The only thing in the world was the pain in my legs, and one more step would make the pain stop, _one more step_…

It was Glorfindel, again, that kept watch that night and got us up early the next morning. I don't remember eating anything or ever really opening my eyes, merely following the Elf's voice when he said, "Our peril will be greatest just before we reach the river, for my heart warns me that other danger may be waiting at the Ford."

Late in the afternoon I finally came fully to my senses. The hobbits were still hobbling along in front of me in the grass on either side of the Road, and Frodo was still resting atop Glorfindel's magnificent horse. His curly head was dropped oddly down into his shoulder, the reins held loosely in his lifeless hands. Before me, Aragorn steered our pony while the Elf led Frodo's mount.

I surveyed our position. From here, the Riders could waylay us from the woods on either bank or come at us from the rear. I knew that they were not supposed to appear until just before the Ford, but the terror always in my mind was growing, and I thought it best to keep an eye out.

Glorfindel gave me a cursory glance. "There is no need for worry, Lady Jorryn."

At length, we arrived at the edge of a pine-grove, where the Road dipped into a bare trench and opened at the edge of the pines onto a flat, yellow plain. Beyond that was the vague rushing channel of water at the Ford glittering in the sun. The Mountains climbed and built on top of each other as a misty backdrop.

_There it is…_ I thought. Rivendell was within reach.

The trench cutting into the pine-wood echoed horribly, so the tinny reverberations of our own steps chased us for many seconds at a time, like following feet. I brushed up against the soggy, red soil of the wall, wind hissing through pine needles above us and howling down the tunnel. The shrill, rushing sound that the breeze brought was frightening, and I paused to listen.

Glorfindel spun, glaring past me to the tunnel's opening. There was a moment that his eyes shone brilliantly, then all at once he jumped back with a speed that startled me, and he cried, "Fly! The enemy is here!"

Frodo and the white horse raced ahead. The rest of us ran falteringly down to the grassy plain and began to sprint the distance separating us from the Bruinen, Aragorn and Glorfindel at our heels. We had not gotten halfway when a terrible, earsplitting shriek pierced the air, and I looked over my shoulder to see a Black Rider gallop out of the tunnel we had just left. Another joined him, pulling its horse to a halt, and three more emerged a second later.

"Ride forward! Ride!" Glorfindel yelled to Frodo.

My breath coming in short gasps, I turned back. I saw the Baggins slow the horse and circle it about, swaying unsteadily in the saddle.

"_Noro lim_, _noro lim_, _Asfaloth_!" shouted Glorfindel in Elvish, loud and clear across the grasslands. "Ride on!"

"Go, Frodo," I panted, the words broken by my unsteady strides.

Asfaloth whirled, jerking his great head, speeding away in the direction of the Bruinen once again. The Riders instantly shot forward in pursuit. Their evil cry filled the air, striking bitter, numbing horror into my heart. The sharp call was answered by the four other Nazgûl, who appeared out of the trees at our sides and dashed toward Frodo and the Ford.

"An ambush!" shouted Glorfindel.

I stumbled when the Riders passed on their gleaming, pitch-black mounts, and Aragorn had to jerk me to my feet before he tripped over me. One of the Riders rotated its head toward me, the infinite blackness of its empty hood bowed in my direction, and I could only assume that the thing had spotted me.

"Ride on," I begged it breathlessly.

The five Riders at our rear sped by us as the ambushing four moved to cut off Frodo's way to the river. They were not fast enough, though — Asfaloth shot between them, right before their horses' snouts, and galloped across the waterway in an eruption of spray.

I watched apprehensively, every mouthful of air fighting its way to reach my burning lungs. Pippin, Merry, and Sam were heaving beside me.

"Come, hurry!" Glorfindel instructed, taking us to the side of the path, away from the Ringwraiths. The Road ended swiftly at the edge of the water, but a smaller track turned sharply to the right and headed into a patch of trees at the riverside. There Aragorn urged us to the ground.

Glorfindel remained standing. He commanded, "Quickly, kindle a fire!"

Strider, who was the most skilled with such things, made a small bonfire of the leaves and brushwood littering the ground under the grove. Glorfindel picked up many dead and fallen branches and gave them to the hobbits. Pippin and Merry shared a look that clearly communicated their mutual confusion, but before the Took could ask any questions, Glorfindel said, "Light these brands and follow me."

Aragorn made a torch of his own. "Stay here, Jorryn. The Riders must not see you."

I pressed myself flat to the soil, trying to make myself invisible. My friends took their flames back out to the plain.

I could see Frodo sitting hunched on the huge horse across the water. His hand went to the sword at his hip, and his though his voice came quiet and weak, it was filled with defiance. "Go back! Go back to the Land of Mordor, and follow me no more!"

My held breath came out as a stifled sob that rustled the twigs and grass under my chin. There were several splashes as the Nine entered the water on their horses, led by the largest of them. "Come with us to Mordor, Halfling," one said in a tomblike murmur. It rose menacingly in its saddle, reaching out with a gauntleted hand.

Frodo drew his sword and lifted it above his head. "You shall have neither the Ring nor me!" he cried.

Suddenly, I felt a deep rumble in the ground beneath me, and the river began to roar and churn, rushing along its course at a building speed. Asfaloth, on the opposite bank, backed onto his hind legs, and Frodo fell. I scrambled backwards to avoid getting drenched, gaping up at the wall of water crashing by me. It rose into a roiling surge of glittering waves, and I thought I could perceive several foaming figures of white riders on horses, the stallions charging in the froth. Three of the Nazgûl were trapped in the water and drawn under, and the others retreated hastily.

I twisted around to see what my companions were doing, and on the plain above the Ford I made out a shining figure — Glorfindel — with outstretched arms, a vivid glow flickering from his open palms. Around him were the smaller, indistinct outlines of Aragorn and the hobbits with their glowing torches. The combined radiance was blinding, and I had to put a hand up to shield my face.

The Nazgûl were bewildered, and the horses were maddened by the din and the light. Flailing back into the swelling flood, the animals reared and toppled on top of their riders, whose furious screeches were drowned in the raging tumult. The last I saw of them was a momentary flash of black cloth, and then they were gone.

The water calmed at once, and Glorfindel's illumination faded. I stood, thoroughly shaken, spots swimming before my eyes, and walked dazedly toward the riverbank. My cape hung limply over my shoulders; my hands and cheeks were covered in muck. Smooth pebbles and sand crunched under my boots. Squinting, I could see Frodo's crumpled form on the other side of the water, Asfaloth pawing at the muddy ground beside him. Sam ran up close to me, throwing up small geysers in the river with his bare feet. "Mr. Frodo…" he said feebly. The rest of my hobbits stopped at the shore, afraid to go nearer.

My vision began to clear as I tripped across the shallow river. Water was trickling in odd places around stones now, trying to find its previous course again. My feet slipping, I climbed the steep bank and drew near Frodo, who was huddled in the mud shivering and struggling to breathe. His sword lay broken beside him.

Sinking to my knees, I quietly turned him to his back. He gaped up blindly at the sky, not even noticing me, the old vibrancy of his eyes completely glazed over by a sickly gray.

I buried my face in my hands. He looked so tiny and fragile that it was hard for even me to believe that he would live. "Please don't, Frodo… you can't…" I choked.

"_Tiro nín, tithen hên_," said someone above me, in a tone strong and commanding.

I snapped up to find another Elf standing directly over me, and was instantly mesmerized. In his fine, penetrating gaze was a light like stars shining down from a grey sky, like evening sunshine spilling between two far-off mountaintops. About him I sensed an air of unfathomable sadness — a sorrow, a pity, for the dying world in which he remained — and profound wisdom. Long, dark hair was braided and looped about his pointed ears, and a circlet of fashioned silver was on his brow. Rich purple robes flowed down to his booted feet over a lighter blue tunic.

Studying my grimy features, he smiled kindly at me and one of his hands clasped itself at his waist. He waved to the Elf at my back, instructing, "Glorfindel, take Frodo the rest of the way, and make haste!"

Though Frodo was scooped up from under me, I remained where I was. I felt like a fool, plopped on the ground like that, but so great and beautiful was the Elf's presence that I was stricken dumb, overcome with awe. Aragorn came up behind me and bowed slightly, greeting the Elf-lord in his own tongue.

"It has been long since I was last in Rivendell, Lord Elrond," my friend said.

"Indeed, Aragorn," Elrond said, nodding to the man. "It has been too long."

Again the Elf's discerning stare moved downward to me, rooting me to the spot, but I couldn't manage a proper sentence. What could I say? I was certain he was aware of who I was and where I had come from. Indecisive, I opened and closed my mouth.

After a thoughtful second, he bent gracefully in a half-bow. "Welcome, Lady Jorryn," he said.

"Thank — thank you, sire," I stammered in reply, taking his welcome as a cue to rise. I pushed myself clumsily to my feet.

"Much has been said of you here," he informed me. He spoke calmly but firmly, his eloquent speech holding no accent. "Many are eager to meet you."

I swallowed uncertainly. "Thank you, sire," I repeated, unable to think of any other response.

Lord Elrond moved away with a slight chuckle, and from beyond him, I heard a low, gravelly voice, tinged with humor. "You are looking well, Aragorn."

Strider, coated in grime from head to foot, laughed heartily. "And you, also, Gandalf."

Gandalf the Grey strode up to us, one of his thumbs tucked under the plain leather belt securing his long, woolen robes. His wavy, shoulder-length hair and silvery beard blew freely in the wind without his tall hat. Pausing by Elrond, the wizard rested his weight upon the knotted staff he carried, appearing to be in perfect health, just as I remembered him.

Under his bushy eyebrows, I detected the movement of his incisive gaze, and a moment later felt the weight of it. Amusement faded from his features to be replaced with grief. I didn't move.

"Jorryn," he said at last, the coarse word thick with guilt. He released a short sigh and shifted, not freeing me from the end of his stare. "Forgive me."

I noticed that he didn't attempt to explain himself. He didn't need to inform me that he had gone to Saruman the White for aid at Isengard and found him to be a traitor, and that everything he'd reported to the White Wizard had been given to Sauron. It was strange, not having to be told these things.

He looked long and imploringly at me, his lips pursed under his hoary mustache. He gripped his staff, rubbing worriedly at a knot in the wood, and I said nothing. His heartfelt and sorrowful apology was enough to make me want to weep… but I was just so weary, so utterly and terribly drained of energy…

With all the bravery I could muster, I took a step closer to him and tipped my head into his chest, which was as far as my height reached. A few tears dropped onto the rough fabric of his cloak.

And Gandalf the Grey put his arms about my shoulders, his callused fingers stroking my matted hair. "You are safe now," he assured softly. I spent a moment sniffling, and when I was done the wizard stood me upright, holding me out so that I could see the relief in his wizened face.

"Come," he said, and we turned to follow Lord Elrond Half-elven into the Last Homely House, the grand realm of Rivendell.


	27. Rivendell

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own any of Tolkien's characters or the world he created. The only character of mine (Jorryn) has decided to take a holiday in Tolkien's Middle-earth. No copyright infringement on any of J. R. R. Tolkien's works is intended. The snippet of a song that Jorryn sings is from Riverdance: The Show. The song is called... "Riverdance." :P It's composed by Bill Whalen.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** The troupe finally reaches Rivendell with the help of Gandalf and Elrond. The Lady meets Elves and sees one of her dearest friends, and Frodo awakens... I would really, _really_ appreciate reactions to this chapter -- through reviews here, through e-mail, or anything. Thanks very much for reading, and credit goes to **ArwenAria18** for beta-reading this for me. :) Anyway, to Rivendell...

**26**

I came to Rivendell with Gandalf, my hobbits, and Lord Elrond by way of the road running from the Ford and along the Loudwater. I first saw the Last Homely House, nestled between the feet of the Misty Mountains, when we crested the final hill separating us from the sheltered valley in which Elrond and his people made their home.

"It's autumn," I realized suddenly, staring in wonder at the House of Elrond. I hadn't even noticed before just then.

And it was… sweet, beautiful autumn, glowing like pure gold on the narrow vale, shimmering in the many waterfalls that guided the river Bruinen downward out of the Mountains. The leaves of the trees growing throughout the place were like fire on the waving branches; vibrant yellows and oranges shone at us between the Elvish dwellings. The tall, graceful structures were built right up to the edge of the precipice above the Loudwater, over which many footbridges crossed. It looked, to me, like the river went directly through Rivendell in more than one spot, to flow through magnificent canals and conduits. There was a sheer rock face at the settlement's back, and beyond were the towering Mountains.

We went quickly, for Elrond and Gandalf were anxious to tend to Frodo. Our road was cut high into the side of the hill beside the river, so we were almost level with the roofs of the houses until the path dipped down and led to a safe means over Bruinen. There, we came to the main gates of Rivendell.

As I passed under the archway leading to the main courtyard of Elrond's House, I tilted my head so far back that my neck hurt, gaping at the splendor surrounding me. All around us there were green trees and ferns, dappling the area with shade, and on the ground was a carpet of soft turf. The Elves had constructed the most amazing raised walkways, pavilions, bridges, and porticos that I had ever seen — everything was wrought in elegant curves and interwoven swirls. There were towers, and balconies, and timeworn steps leading up to hidden places. Such intricate detail was in a small, slender pillar, in the arcing, engraved border over a doorway, or in the face of a sorrowful Elven statue, that I inexplicably wanted to cry. There was an impossibly perfect balance between nature and civilization here… it was absolutely breathtaking.

Elrond began giving orders in his own tongue at once, though there was no one I saw that could have been listening. But suddenly, several Elves stepped out from under an entryway and looked intently at us. They were tall and lithe, clothed in long, flowing tunics of sparkling fabric, their dark eyes glinting like distant flames.

One of them, a slim, light-haired girl, approached me and bowed a little. She had a deep, gray gaze, and she spoke in a soft but powerful voice, "_Mae govannen_, Lady Jorryn. Would you like me to show you to where you will stay?"

I looked behind me to where Aragorn and the hobbits were being swept away in another direction. Elrond and Gandalf had already disappeared. "Could I see Frodo?" I asked the Elf.

She smiled, small and sad. "You will be near to him. Come."

Taking me up a stairway to a path under a canopy of twisted and shaped wood, we went over a bridge connecting several dwellings. We passed stoic sculptures of Elven warriors, in full armor, guarding huge carven doors, and delicate figures welcoming us with tiny, knowing grins, their willowy arms outstretched in some never-ending dance. All was quiet except for the faint rush of the Loudwater making its many ways through the place.

I looked down and caught glimpses of other Elves standing among the greenery below. Their fair features were turned upward to me, almost expectantly, but all I could do was duck my head and stare self-consciously at the toes of my boots.

My guide led me silently into a vast hall, slipping by closed doors until we reached the end, and there she faced me. The hallway was open to the gardens and the Mountains on the side opposite the doors, on my left, and cool evening air breezed noiselessly over us. Before me, granite stairs ran down to balconies and other paths to the heart of Rivendell.

"Here, Milady, is where we must part. This is your room," she informed me, extending her hand to the last door and opening it. I heard the stirring of grass and tree boughs.

Not going in just yet, I shifted awkwardly. "My — my bags — "

"You will find your things have already been brought, _sell_," the Elf continued, her gaze shining. "Your friends, the hobbits, are staying in this hall with you; the room next to yours belongs to Frodo Baggins."

She saw my question in the hopeful lifting of my eyebrows before I could say anything. "Lord Elrond and _Mithrandír_ are with him. You will not be able to see him tonight."

I frowned disappointedly, unclasping my muddy cloak from around my throat. My new companion asked gently, "Would you like me to bring a supper to you? There is a feast, but you have had a long journey, and perhaps you would prefer to rest."

"Yes — please — thank you," I bumbled, tucking flyaway strands of hair behind my terribly plain ears.

The Elf tilted forward smoothly. "I am Nátucien, Lady Jorryn, and if you need anything, do not hesitate to ask for it."

"Thank you," I said again. I took a hesitant step into my room, and when I turned back, Nátucien was gone.

The room was wide and spacious, filled at that moment with the light of a fiery sunset. A bed — a _bed_, larger than any I had seen in months, such a wonderful sight after sleeping on damp, hard ground for so long — was set against the far side of the room. Large arches curved, like glassless windows, in every wall but the one behind me, their frames decorated with fashioned vines and tree roots and little carven flowers. Leaves had blown in and scattered themselves across the tiled floor. There was really no difference between indoors and outdoors, here. Nothing was closed except for the door at my back and the vaulted ceiling over my head.

Behind a broad screen in one corner, I found a hot, steaming bath, along with a change of clothes. My pack of belongings was on a short chest at the foot of the bed. There were a few high-backed chairs and a bureau at the far edge of the room, upon which a washbasin and several crystalline goblets rested. Vases filled with flowers were on nearly every surface, and tall, twisting candelabrums, with lit candles, stood next to the bed and chests.

I spent a long time in the bath, relaxing my aching muscles and trying not to think about everything that had happened in the last few days. When I finally got out, the water was cold, and I learned that the gown that had been laid out for me was most definitely of Elvish make, silky and fluid, with threads of silver running the length of the sleeves. I also saw that Nátucien had brought me dinner.

I thought briefly of seeking the company of my hobbits, but in the end decided that I would like to enjoy the beauty of Rivendell alone for a while and then get some rest. Besides, no one other than Frodo had seen me once in an Elvish dress, and I felt so uncomfortable in such a pretty thing that it would be odd to have the others see me. I sat in one of the chairs to eat, watching the world sink into pleasant darkness outside, listening to the murmuring of the Loudwater. As soon as I was done eating, I slid underneath the soft, cool covers of my bed, and was almost immediately asleep.

* * *

No one came to wake me. I slept long into the afternoon and only rose when I felt warm daylight slanting across my pillow.

I changed into one of my simpler Hobbitish dresses and finished unpacking the few things that I had carried — my journal, drawings, clothes, and the caricature I'd done for Bilbo's birthday. I wrote a quick entry in my journal saying that we had safely reached Elrond's House, but was not certain of the date. Eventually I gathered enough courage to venture into Rivendell.

Poking my head around my door, I glanced about the hall and tiptoed out. Frodo's room, beside mine, was open, and inside I could see Lord Elrond standing over the hobbit's bed, his dark head bent in concentration. Frodo seemed small and frail under the huge blankets piled over him. Low, strange words floated to me, and I moved timidly back.

"Jo!" someone cried. I whirled in surprise and found Peregrin Took at my elbow, sunlight and happiness dancing in his emerald eyes. "Jo," he said again, reaching for my hand and pulling me off immediately to a staircase, "we've missed you!"

"What time is it?" I asked, still slightly stunned. Simply being in Rivendell seemed to have removed any remnants of fatigue or gloom from my young friend.

"Somewhere past noon," Pippin shrugged. He was wearing his simple tunic, suspenders, and breeches, lacking his patterned scarf and light blue jacket. I had not heard such joy in his lilting, singsong voice in a very long time. "We sent Sam to check on you this morning, but haven't seen him since — he probably got himself lost. It's a curious and wonderful place, Rivendell. You could live here forever and not find everything the Elves have built."

The hobbit went to the gardens, dragging me behind him without pause. We met many of Elrond's kindred on the way, and they all bowed courteously when I tripped by with the Took. Leaves fell continuously around us in a delightful shower of color.

Finally, we stopped, Pippin short of breath from the long walk, his cheeks flushed. He grinned impishly up at me. We stood on a veranda that commanded a view of Rivendell's valley and the river below.

"Where is everybody?" I asked.

It was then that I saw him… an elderly hobbit waiting farther ahead on the trail, one wrinkled hand in a pocket of his tweed vest, a soft cream-colored shawl thrown over his stooped shoulders. Wispy white hair fell over his pointed ears, and he waved to me.

Tears suddenly blurred my vision. "Bilbo," I whispered, my heart leaping into my throat.

I ran to the Baggins and threw myself into his embrace, though not too fervently, fearing for his old and fragile form. He laughed, a little creakily, and patted the back of my head with a gentle hand. "My dear Jo," he said. "How good it is to see you at last!"

I pressed my brow into the silken material on his shoulder, unable to stop myself from crying. "Bilbo, I've missed you so much!"

He stepped back and peered into my somewhat tearstained face, his gaze bright and thoughtful. Saying nothing, he solemnly put up a hand and wiped my cheeks, his mouth quirking. He seemed older and more worn, I thought, but he was the same.

"You've had quite the time of it, I hear," the hobbit muttered, nodding toward a squat stone bench. We rested together in the afternoon sun. "My friend the Dúnadan has had rather a lot to tell me about your adventures."

I sniffled, knowing he meant Aragorn, "I don't know — what did he tell you?"

"He has told me enough," said Bilbo, retrieving a short walking stick from behind the bench.

"I hope that doesn't mean all of it," I grumbled.

"No doubt," Bilbo snorted. "But don't you want to know what I've been doing while you were all off on your journey?"

I could feel my love for the hobbit bubbling in my heart. I asked indulgently, "What have you been doing, Bilbo?"

"I've been here doing nothing more than thinking and writing," he supplied straight away. "I did manage to return once with the Dwarves to Dale, before realizing that I am, in spite of everything, getting old. And… that was my last adventure."

"I'm sorry," I said. His tone had unexpectedly turned gloomy, and I wanted to give some consolation to the saddened Baggins. He was staring distractedly into the shrubbery beyond a marble figurine of an Elvish dancer, remembering times that were out of reach. I intertwined my fingers with his.

"Oh, no, not at all," he chuckled, coming back to the present and me. "Rivendell is precisely where I need to stay. There is time to reflect… time to _be_. And that's what I've wanted for the longest while." His hairy feet did not meet the ground where he sat, and he swung his legs cheerily, adding, "To be honest, it hasn't felt like it's been very long since I left the Shire."

"It has to me," I countered earnestly.

He gave my hand a squeeze, laughing, "Ah, I have missed you, my dear Lady."

That afternoon was spent sitting with my beloved hobbit discussing our remembrances of Hobbiton and the Shire, of Bag End's wonderful halls, of the life we'd abandoned. Just before supper, at which time I was at last informed that I could see Frodo, I bid the aged Baggins farewell and told him I'd see him again. Afterward, I went by myself and sat undisturbed beside Frodo's bed for many hours, touching his frozen left hand in vain, wondering hopelessly when he would get better. Sam took my place when I went to my own room to sleep.

I was met by Pippin in the hall again the next day, but my other hobbits accompanied him this time. Merry, like Peregrin, seemed to have nearly completely forgotten the last few days' events, and was in perfect condition; Samwise, however, stood hunched with his hands in his pockets, staring worriedly into Frodo's chambers.

"A good morning to you, Jo," Merry greeted me amiably, sweeping up with an extravagant bow. One corner of his mouth tipped lopsidedly. "How is Rivendell treating you?"

"Very well, thank you," I replied.

Pippin quickly said, "How _else_ would it be treating us, Merry?"

"We're sorry, Jo, if we were very cold to you after Weathertop," Merry continued over our young friend's quip. "We were… upset, that's all."

I shook my head dismissively, warmed by his apology. "We were all upset — I'm sorry, too."

"You had more reason than us to be distant at all," Pippin said haltingly, and I could tell that he was loath to bring up the subject. "Those Riders — "

Sam, who had said nothing the whole time, straightened suddenly, interrupting. He gave Pippin a withering look. "If you don't mind, Miss Jo, I'm going to take my leave. I'd like to stay with Mr. Frodo today."

"That's fine," was all I had time to say before the Gamgee hurried off to Frodo's bedside. I watched the hobbit settle himself next to his master, his small outline sagging with weariness and concern.

"He stayed with him all last night, too," said Merry in a low tone. "He doesn't leave that room unless either Gandalf or Elrond need a message run somewhere."

"Where _is_ Lord Elrond?" I inquired, since I had not seen the Elf since arriving. I felt bad, staying in someone else's home and never thanking him for it.

"I don't know," answered Meriadoc, "he disappeared after breakfast."

The pair persuaded me to join them for tea that afternoon, and later asked me to come to one of Elrond's many studies. Merry was fascinated with the maps collected there, he said, and he wanted to learn everything he could of the world beyond the Mountains. The thought of volumes of books containing the Elves' wisdom and the history of Middle-earth was too tempting, and I agreed to go.

The numerous libraries were directly adjacent to Lord Elrond's grand chambers. The one we chose was a fairly small room with modest bookshelves lining one wall, opposite to several reading desks. There was a lone Elf studying an ancient manuscript at a far table, and he barely glanced up at us before going back to reading. His blonde hair was spilling over his shoulder onto a page, pooling over the Elvish characters like a puddle of yellow sunlight. Merry marveled at the shelves, beaming happily, and instantly pulled down a collection of atlases. Pippin tucked his thumbs under his suspenders.

"I'm no good at this," he told me, his lip curling. "I know enough as it is."

Peeping over Merry's shoulder, I grimaced at the map he was examining. "I can't even read that," I said, pointing to the strange script curling across the paper.

Meriadoc grinned. "Neither can I, but it's fun to try, don't you think? These are the Misty Mountains, I'm sure of that," he said, indicating a line of sharp symbols. "And these are the Blue Mountains. So the Shire must be…" He waved vaguely to the space between the two ranges.

"Did we really come that far?" I wondered. There wasn't a scale on the map, but it looked to be a great distance.

"I think we did," said Pippin. He stood on his toes to better see the yellowed parchment. "Goodness, that is a long way."

Merry stared down for several seconds at the spot where he'd guessed the Shire to be, then pushed that map away and went to another, saying no more.

I went next door to Frodo's room immediately the following morning, taking Bilbo's spot as he came out for breakfast. Samwise was still there, snoring into the Baggins's coverlets, his dusty-blonde curls flattened in places and sticking out oddly in others. I smiled ruefully down on the two of them and seated myself opposite the gardener, testing the skin of Frodo's left hand once. It was cold. For many moments, I remained motionless, thinking and feeling nothing, examining the swirling purple pattern sewn into one of the many blankets on the bed.

In the hours that came after, my mind wandered deeper and deeper into the memories I had shoved into the back of my consciousness since being unexpectedly thrust into Middle-earth. I recalled conversations and casual actions that had once meant nothing to me, and faces that I wasn't really all that eager to see again. But an old, familiar loneliness was seeping slowly into my limbs, and it was seemingly prepared to return for good.

The muscles in my neck had started to hurt, so I cupped my head in my palms, and a long-forgotten tune I'd learned as a child emerged at the front of my mind, unbidden. My eyes went absently to Frodo.

"_Hear my cry, in my hungering search for you_," I said, the whispered words touched with the faintest hint of lifting notes, "_taste my breath on the wind_…_ See the sky as it mirrors my colors. Hints and whispers begin_…"

I turned my head within my hand, sighing heavily and trying to prevent that sigh from becoming a yawn, wondering where Gandalf was. Poor, exhausted Samwise gave a choked grunt and twitched a bit, grumbling something about the old Gaffer of Hobbiton in his sleep.

"Dear Sam," I shushed, giggling inwardly. The Gamgee returned peacefully to his dreams. "You'll see your Gaffer again, don't worry. You have a home and a family you've got to go back to."

A deep, thick voice broke into my one-sided exchange. "And you do not?"

I twisted round and discovered Lord Elrond himself waiting majestically, in the doorway of Frodo's room, for me to notice him. His long, smooth hair was unbound and flowing over his shoulders like a dark curtain, save for a very tiny section at his temples which was braided back, and he wore heavy reddish-brown robes with billowed sleeves. There was no circlet on his head or belt about his waist; I couldn't even tell if his feet were booted, so silently did he glide over to me.

Swallowing, I debated on whether to stand or not. "Sire?" I wondered meekly.

He gazed down at me, his strong face inscrutable, something glistening in his eyes, and I was forced to resist my quavering. I was seated piteously beneath one of the most beautiful people I'd ever known, praying frantically that if he wished to speak with me, I would not make an idiot out of myself.

He slid into the chair alongside mine, covering his mouth with a couple of lean fingers. "You were unhappy there, in your own time," he said, his fingertips pressing to his thin mouth. It was not a question.

"I — yes," I said nervously, knowing it was useless to even attempt to conceal knowledge from Elrond. "Yes, I — I suppose so."

"In Middle-earth, you have found understanding and compassion that you did not have in your own time, Lady Jorryn… do I guess aright?" pressed Elrond, every syllable sharp and accentuated.

I gulped again, watching him with the same interest as he was me. Feeling extremely tired all of the sudden, I shifted and scratched my arm, resigned to the fact that I should give him the truth. "Yes."

"What reason had you to be unhappy?"

_Not a one_, I thought guiltily, but felt that I had to explain. I disclosed uncertainly, turning away, "My — parents once told me that I was a miserable person. I spent too much time finding the bad in everything, they said." Elrond didn't blink, didn't move, and I went on, releasing the air in my lungs slowly, "I think they — they were probably right. They were angry with me when they said this, but… maybe that's the only reason I was ever unhappy — just because I wanted to be."

"And yet, you are here, with no wish to return to the time from whence you came," the Elf-lord pointed out, softening perceptively. I looked up at him and saw that the light behind his stare was twinkling like a star. "You have not found misery in Middle-earth."

"No, because there _is_ none to find," I said, and Elrond immediately smiled.

"You know as well as I do, Milady, that this is not true. There are dark things in this world, just like yours, that you have merely not seen or labored to seek out."

I didn't offer any argument, for of course he was right. I wasn't sure what to think. "I guess… I don't follow you, sire," I said, embarrassed.

He laughed melodiously into his fingertips. "I mean only this: you may have been taken from your own time not just for the benefit of the peoples of Middle-earth, but also for your own. You were unhappy… and now you are not."

I allowed this to sink in, and Elrond folded his arms inside his sleeves. We sat in silence for a long while, listening to Sam's snores and Frodo's labored breathing. I couldn't even begin to sort out what the Elf had said to me.

After several minutes, Lord Elrond leaned toward me, and he said faintly, "Those who dwell over the Sea would not have brought you here without reason, Jorryn. Take heart."

In one fluid movement, he lifted himself to his feet, his garments rustling, and within seconds he had gone without another word, leaving me feeling very confused and empty.

* * *

I dreamed that night of a dark, cold, stone room without windows. Even though I somehow knew there could have not been any light there, I saw through the eyes of my dream — it was a room with black blood smearing the flagstones, which were roughly hewn and jagged — a room completely empty except for a small, huddled hobbit in one shadowed corner.

Something in my chest wrenched, and my mind told me that the hobbit was Frodo. His clothes were slashed and I could see raw, barely-healed wounds left by a whip on his sallow shoulders. He had been here for a long time — years, perhaps — and the memory of happiness in the Shire had been stolen from him —

My dream-self took a step forward. _How could this have happened?_

On the ground, Frodo flinched and whimpered indistinctly, not realizing that I was there, and suddenly I sensed a looming presence at my side — something was hissing into my ear, there was a claw-like hand on my shoulder — I thrashed and tripped away, and Frodo was screaming and screaming…

I opened my eyes to the silvery darkness of my room in Rivendell, my heart pounding like a hammer in my chest. Pushing myself up, I saw the mess I had made of my covers; one blanket had fallen to the ground, and another was turned completely upside-down and tangled with my legs. Everything was bathed in moonlight streaming in through the arches in every wall, and trees were sighing outside, the sound mingling with the constant rushing of the Loudwater and its waterfalls.

"Just a bad dream," I informed my silent surroundings. I pressed the side of my fist into my forehead, struggling with the horrible images still flashing in front of me.

Shuddering, I scooted out of my bed and padded to my door, opening it noiselessly. The hall was empty, and beyond, the gardens were calm. Casting my eyes around hastily, I sneaked into Frodo's room where, thankfully, he was alone. Elrond must have sent Sam to get some real rest, finally.

I crossed the room and bent over Frodo in his bed, squinting. He was lying flat on his back, both arms resting over his bedspread, his skin appearing pale even in such dim light. The night had cast a deep blue sheen over the young Baggins, making the shadows of his eyelashes stretch long over his cheeks. His dark curls were disheveled and unkempt, and I dared to sweep them away from his smooth brow. The hobbit did not stir.

I took the seat that'd been mine earlier in the day while talking with Elrond, and from there I safely observed Frodo's handsome profile, following with my eyes the line of his square jaw and the slight separation of his lips as he breathed. His pointed ears were just visible within his tangles. The wound that the Nazgûl's knife had given him was bound with gold linen dressings, the bandage showing beneath the Elvish tunic in which the hobbit had been clothed. Grazing my fingers across the back of his hand, I found the skin only slightly warm. I sat back, my stomach aching dully. Would he ever be well again? I longed to hear Frodo's sweet voice and his ringing laugh again, even if he was not speaking or laughing with me.

"Get better," I ordered him groggily, folding my arms into a makeshift pillow next to his right leg and dropping my head into them. I was asleep before I had time to think.

The morning came bright and fair, and I awoke several times alert enough to know so. But I was still too exhausted to get up completely, and so the first few hours of dawn drifted by in a mix of lethargy and consciousness. It must have been around ten o'clock when I detected two voices above me, one low and gravelly, the other high and clear. The fabric of rough gray robes was brushing against my naked feet.

"… is that the end of the Black Riders?"

"No, their horses must have perished, and without them they are crippled. The Ringwraiths cannot be so easily destroyed, though there is nothing more to fear from them at present."

There was a pause, followed by, "Who made the flood?"

"Elrond commanded it. The river of this valley is under his power, and it will rise in anger when he has great need to bar the Ford. For a moment, I thought that we had let loose too fierce a wrath, and the flood would get out of hand and wash you all away."

The first voice was definitely Frodo's, and joy filled me. He was awake! Gandalf was reclining in the chair beside me, the one further away from the bed, apparently smoking; the acrid scent of pipe-weed was on the air. I nearly sat up right then, but stopped myself just in time, thinking better of it. What would I do when the Baggins focused on me and his eyes hardened into cruel blue ice? What would Gandalf say? Too afraid to find out, I remained with my face hidden in the crook of my arm, taking deep breaths as I would in sleep, listening in on the conversation between wizard and hobbit.

"Yes, it all comes back to me now, the tremendous roaring. I thought I was drowning."

"No," said Gandalf, "you are safe. Soon there will be feasting and merrymaking to celebrate, and you will all be there in places of honor."

"Very well," Frodo said, without too much enthusiasm, moving under the bedcovers. "It's wonderful that Elrond should show me so much kindness."

Gandalf moved to his feet nearby. "Well, there are many reasons why he should. I am one good reason. The Ring is another. You are the Ring-bearer and the heir of Bilbo, the Ring-finder."

"Dear Bilbo," said Frodo around an unconcealed yawn.

I felt a large hand on my head, and Gandalf chuckled sonorously over me, the faint rumble of it moving down his arm and resonating in my skull. I could hardly contain my excitement at receiving such a fatherly gesture from the wizard. "You have talked more than is good for you, Frodo," he told the hobbit gently. "Elrond wants you to get some rest. Shall I move the Lady into her own room?"

"No," said Frodo promptly. "I… it's all right. Let her sleep."

"I will send Samwise to wake you this evening," said Gandalf, and he was gone.

A minute, and then two and three, came and went without anything happening. I began to wonder if Frodo was staring at me, or refusing to, or if he had once more fallen back into slumber. His leg, at my elbow, had not budged since Gandalf's departure. Maybe I could sneak away once I knew he would not be aware of it; I didn't want to have to confront him just yet. When there were others with me, people to distract the hobbit so that he could comfortably ignore me — I could force myself to be in front of the Baggins then.

The sore muscles in my back were growing tired of being in one position for so long, and blood was not flowing in my prickling feet. Finally, I could bear it no longer, and I lifted my head, the flashing sunlight outside making white blotches lurch across my vision. I blinked for a moment.

Propped up against the many pillows at his back, Frodo was looking directly at me, something like a confused frown decorating his boyish countenance. Many of the first few clasps were undone on the Elvish tunic he wore, exposing the dressings of his injury over his chest. The horrid, glinting Ring was hanging on a silver chain around his neck. Cautiously, I straightened up, gripping his blanket fearfully and inwardly cursing my luck. I had hoped that he was napping.

We watched each other solemnly, neither speaking nor stirring. Sparks were smoldering in Frodo's eyes. I felt an unexpected, impatient anger rise in me — I was waiting for his wrath, and he was tormenting me needlessly. At last, I shifted in my seat.

Uncomfortable, I diverted my gaze and opened my mouth. I began, "Frodo — "

But I stopped. The hobbit had suddenly reached for my hands, which were still upon the blankets, and was pulling me up firmly, out of my chair, toward him — he hesitated once our noses were mere centimeters apart, peering up at me, uncertain and questioning, his expression something that I could only stare down at perplexedly — and before I knew what was happening, he had covered my lips with his, and was kissing me.

My heart gave a strange little jolt, and I sank slowly down to sit on the bed beside the hobbit. Everything that had been previously running through my mind came to a screeching halt, jumbling like a train wreck in the center of my brain. Only one thought managed to survive, and it scrambled to the front of my consciousness, screaming, _Frodo Baggins is kissing me_!

One of his hands went to my face — it was his left, the one that had been so cold and lifeless in the days before. Now it was warm, cupping my cheek, his small fingers brushing my untidy hair away from our kiss, his mouth playing delicately and timidly over my own, firm and sweet and _alive_.

A euphoric chill spread through me as the hobbit broke away, pausing to exhale, and tipped forward to rest his forehead against mine. Reeling dazedly, I comprehended at that moment that I had bunched up fistfuls of his silken shirt in my astonishment, and with trembling hands, I released him.

Our eyes met, and he burrowed his fingers desperately into my curls, bashfully looking down. His long, beautiful eyelashes hooded his gaze. "It — it was like a dark dream, Jo," he whispered brokenly, a puff of his breath passing over my quivering lips. The memory of his Morgul-wound made him shiver. "All was in shadow — everything faded to ghosts — and… and I realized that I could not _see_ you…"

A tear fell into my palm, and I was unable to tell if it belonged to Frodo or me. I bit fiercely on my lower lip, love for the hobbit swelling painfully in my chest, and when I searched for words, the only ones to be found were, "Frodo, I'm so sorry, so very sorry…"

He shook his head, moving back and grasping my hands. "No, Jorryn, it is my fault. Forgive me."

"But — but I — " I faltered, frowning down at my knees, not sure what I was trying to say. His touch was leaving me faint.

"I needed someone to blame," the Baggins said miserably. "I am a fool. You did exactly as Gandalf wished. Please forgive me."

I tried to laugh, but it came out as a nervous gurgle. My voice was shaking. "Frodo — please stop apologizing — I'm sorry, too — "

Putting his arms about me, he hugged me tightly to him, his voice coming muffled through my shoulder. "I am a fool," he said again.

This time, I really laughed, overcome by his sincerity. He sighed contentedly, long and deep, and I, in one of the most brazen acts of my life, planted one last kiss onto the very tip of Frodo Baggins's pointed ear.


	28. The Council of Elrond

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own any of Tolkien's characters or the world he created. The only character of mine (Jorryn) has decided to take a holiday in Tolkien's Middle-earth. No copyright infringement on any of J. R. R. Tolkien's works is intended.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This is, I admit, a monster of a chapter, which is why it took me so long to get it out. Apologies. :) I _did _manage to get the celebration feast and the Council both into this one, though, so I hope that makes up for the delay. I originally planned to split the Council into two chapters. A huge thank you needs to go to **ArwenAria18** for her wonderful beta-reading, to **Architeuthis** for pointing out long ago my language aberrations, and finally, to **everyone reading**. Thank you so much for reviewing that last chapter.

**27**

"Hurray! Here he is at last! Make way for Frodo, Lord of the Ring!"

The waterfalls of Bruinen shimmered in the deepening twilight as the river rushed downward from the Mountains, cold and lovely, and came spilling into the valley of Rivendell. I felt the fresh mists rising from the river below to touch my outstretched fingers. The warm evening air was filled with the sound of falling water and the scents of trees and flowers, remnants of spring and summer still clinging to the valley. At the sound of Pippin's shout, I turned to look up at the pair of hobbits who had just joined us on the veranda.

Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gamgee were walking toward us, down the stone steps leading into the gardens where we had been waiting. Their young faces were bright and smiling. Sam, his round cheeks flushed with his excitement, was holding his master's arm and crying, "Here he is — Mr. Gandalf wasn't lying!" Merry and Pippin, sitting next to me on a bench, had jumped to their feet, and the Took had sent up the call to announce Frodo's arrival. Finally together again, the four hobbits embraced and laughed and danced, but I waited behind with Gandalf, beaming happily at them all.

Frodo… he held my gaze longest of all. That morning, I had gone directly from his room to my own and plopped down dazedly onto my bed, his kiss still tingling sweetly on my lips. The feelings of thrill and exhilaration had only then bubbled up in my heart. I had grinned dumbly at the ceiling above for several minutes until such elation grew in me that I leaped up and ran in circles around my room, squealing into one of my pillows. The rest of the day I spent writing frantically in my journal of what had happened between Frodo and me. _I never imagined that I would come this far_, I'd scribbled under the date of October twenty-fourth. _I gave up on this dream a long time ago…_ And in my ecstatic state, the hours had passed without my noticing, so before long Merry and Pippin had come to fetch me for supper.

The laughter of my friends brought me back to the present. Gandalf, who was standing in the shadows under the branches of a large tree and smoking pipe-weed moodily, watched the hobbits celebrate for a moment and then reprimanded them in a stern and gruff tone, "Evil things do not come into this valley, Peregrin Took, but all the same we should not name them. The Lord of the Ring is not Frodo, but the master of Mordor, whose power is growing. We are sitting in a fortress. Outside it is getting dark."

"You know Gandalf. He's been saying many cheerful things like that," smirked Peregrin to Frodo, his emerald eyes sparkling. "He thinks I need keeping in order. But it seems impossible, somehow, to feel gloomy here. I think I could sing, if I knew the right song."

"I feel like singing myself," Frodo agreed, and he glanced up at me. I saw a blush color his features. "Though at the moment I feel more like eating and drinking."

"That will soon be cured," said Merry, thumping his friend affectionately on the back.

Pippin snapped his own suspenders. "There's a feast! As soon as Gandalf reported that you were recovered, the preparations began."

The dinner bells rang, far-off in Elrond's main house. Gandalf strode forward and put his hand on Frodo's shoulder. "Shall we join in the merrymaking, Master Baggins?"

Frodo allowed himself to be led away, and Meriadoc and Pippin came close behind. I walked at Sam's side. The gardener stuffed his tough, weathered hands into his pockets and peered up at me through his tousled curls.

"I reckon everything's going to be all right now, Miss Jo," he said.

A chilly evening breeze stretched its arm onto the veranda and played with my unbound hair, blowing a few tendrils across my vision. I realized that perhaps Sam had been angry with me because Frodo had blamed me for his injury, but now I had gained his forgiveness along with Frodo's. I hugged my dear Gamgee, loving him so much that I wanted to burst.

"Yes, I think so too, Sam," I murmured. "It's good to have you and Frodo both back."

I had not taken a meal with the Elves since arriving in Rivendell — all my lunches and suppers had been brought to my quarters by Nátucien — and as a result I'd never seen the banquet hall of Elrond's House. It was one of the few places in Rivendell that I found completely closed in by four walls and a roof. Velvet tapestries hung from the arched ceiling and draped down to the smooth, tiled floor, stirring in the gentle wind coming through open windows. There was a long, well-lit table set in the middle of the room upon a dais, surrounded by many smaller side-tables. Several of the guests turned to observe our appearance when we entered, and I felt my face burn. They were Elves, mostly, sitting tall and straight; the fairest and most beautiful of people, with gazes that pierced like gray stars and sparkled with the weight of ages. But I also saw others — soldierly Dwarves and Men, visitors who had come to the Last Homely House without my knowledge.

"Be seated, friends!" someone exclaimed, and we shuffled forward. I tried not to catch too many eyes, even though I wished to look on the magnificent folk around us.

"Where do we _go_?" I hissed at Pippin. The hobbit shrugged blankly.

Gandalf swept ahead of us and took a seat next to Lord Elrond, who was standing at the head of his raised table. Glorfindel was at his opposite side. The three of them together made a glorious and stunning sight.

Frodo headed shyly for an open chair at Elrond's table, but the rest of the hobbits and I hung back. Sam tried to follow his master, but Merry grabbed him, frowning around the wide hall. "I… believe that table is for Special Persons only," the Brandybuck mumbled, and then spotted an Elf beckoning toward us from a side-table. He released Sam. "Ah, there are our seats!"

I took a step in that direction, but suddenly Elrond's strong voice rang clearly across the room. "Lady Jorryn! You are a guest of honor."

My head snapped up in surprise. The Elf-lord was extending his hand to an empty place next to Frodo, amusement tugging at his thin mouth. My cheeks began to flame, but I couldn't suppress an overjoyed grin.

"Thank you, sire," I gushed, not sure what I had done to earn a place among such noble guests. Frodo smiled up at me as I slid into the chair, and from farther down, Gandalf winked at us. A stout little Dwarf sat beyond Frodo on his right, and beside me was a merry-looking Elf who was content to merely nod and then ignore us for the present.

Frodo leaned toward me, confiding, "I feel quite out of place."

An Elf-maiden slipped by with a tray and placed a gilded goblet within my reach. "I do too, Frodo," I whispered back, taking a sip of my drink.

The food was brought out shortly after everyone had been seated. Meats, pies, fruits, breads, and cheeses seemed to appear continually before us, so that our dishes were never empty. Everything tasted fresh and crisp, better than anything my time had ever offered, and I was almost instantly full.

Frodo soon learned that the Dwarf next to him was Glóin, one of the famed companions of Thorin Oakenshield. I had heard of him and the adventures of his company from Bilbo countless times. The Dwarf's wiry beard was white, as were his clothes, and his skin was dark and leathery. Underneath a thick cloak, he wore a necklace of jewels and a dazzling shirt of chain mail. Frodo sprang to his feet at hearing his name.

"Frodo Baggins, at your service," the hobbit said, bowing. He gestured to me. "This is my friend, the Lady Jo."

Glóin fixed his small, black eyes on me. His words were deep and coarse, like the sound of stone grinding against stone. "You are no Hobbit or Elf, Milady?"

I lifted a section of my hair to show him my ears. "No, sire. Just a girl."

"Well!" the Dwarf chortled, shaking his head. "You have had some very strange adventures, I hear. I wonder greatly what brings four hobbits and a Lady on so long a journey. Nothing like it has happened since Bilbo came with us. But perhaps I should not inquire too closely?"

"I think we will not speak of it, at least not yet," nodded Frodo, settling back before his meal.

The two of them talked long about happenings in the North and the state of the Lonely Mountain, and Frodo inquired after all the members of Thorin's company. I didn't know enough of what they spoke, even if I had read Bilbo's book, so I quickly lost interest and stopped eavesdropping. Instead, I finally allowed myself to look at all the people that had come to Elrond's House.

Merry, Pippin, and Sam were still eating, sitting at a small table near the dais. Samwise was hunched over his food and glowering down at his hands, apparently very displeased at having been separated from Frodo. Around them, Elves, Dwarves, and Men were speaking cheerfully among themselves.

I giggled quietly at the Gamgee and focused on the members of our own table. Halfway down the line of people, my eyes halted upon an Elven lady. Her long hair was darker than midnight, falling elegantly about her smooth, ageless face, and her skin was white and pure. A small cap of lace covered her brow, glimmering with gems; her unadorned gown was gray and flowing, secured with a belt of silver resting on her slender hips. She had eyes that matched the Lord Elrond's so closely that I did not have to guess twice — she was Arwen Evenstar, daughter of Elrond.

As I watched, Arwen nodded to someone and took a proffered hand, standing slowly and gracefully. Elrond had risen as well, and he came to his daughter to lead her out of the banquet hall. A number of the Elves followed.

Gandalf passed us. "The feast is over. Come along," he said quietly.

Elrond and Arwen took their guests though corridors and over raised walkways, and everyone followed in silence. Somewhere outside, Bruinen was bubbling cheerfully. The deepness of night was upon Rivendell, casting a veil of dark blue over our faces, making it difficult for me to see anything. Frodo, padding along with me, heard my slapping feet falter, and took my hand to guide me. It was not long before we stopped before two huge, carven doors that I had never noticed before, near the libraries where Merry liked to study. They were opened, and the unsteady radiance of a fire in a hearth flooded over us.

"This is the Hall of Fire," Gandalf said.

The large room contained only chairs and scattered heaps of cushions. It was constructed completely of smooth stone — granite, maybe, but I couldn't tell for sure in the flickering light — and the fireplace was tall, flanked by two great pillars. The Elves, Men, and Dwarves in front of me entered without urgency and found places to sit. Music, bright and clear, came floating to my ears.

I heard Elrond summoning Frodo from ahead. The Elf was stooped over a tiny, sleeping figure leaned against the wall whose face was covered by a deep hood. "Awake, little master!" Elrond said, shaking the sleeper. An annoyed snort was emitted from the hood. Elrond straightened with a chuckle and said to Frodo, "Now at last the hour has come that you have wished for. Here is a friend you have long missed, Master Baggins."

"Bilbo!" Frodo cried, running forward when the old hobbit pushed back his hood.

Bilbo raised his head and caught his nephew in his arms, smiling warmly. "My dear Frodo," he said.

I smiled after the two Bagginses, deciding to leave them alone, and kept on Gandalf's heels. A second later, I saw Samwise break away from the crowd some distance behind us and deposit himself determinedly alongside his master.

Pipe already in hand, Gandalf went directly to a far corner, glancing over his shoulder at me with firelight dancing in his gaze. "Do you not wish to stay with the hobbits?" he rumbled.

"Frodo has been apart from them a long time," I shrugged, stepping around an Elf reclining at my feet. "I thought they might want some time to themselves."

By the movement of the back of his head, I could tell the wizard had nodded. His silvery hair fell a long way down his slightly bent back, and it tickled my nose. "Do you mind if I sit with you?" I prodded cautiously.

"Not at all," he said, finding a chair. I dropped into a pile of pillows nearby.

The singing had commenced with a joyous song, and although I understood nothing of its lyrics, I felt my spirits lifting. The Elvish notes seemed to dance around my very heart and envelop me with warmth. Light from the flames wavered on the keen, eager faces of the company, and the shadows in dark places of the room writhed and twisted like strange dancers.

Deep in thought, Gandalf blew a smoke-ring over my head. His voice came above the song, wondering, "Why didn't you expect to sit at Elrond's table this evening, Jorryn?"

"I… didn't know I was a guest of honor, sir," I winced embarrassedly, leaning back to better see the wizard. "I haven't actually _done_ anything, have I?"

Gandalf gave a short, sad laugh. "You do not believe you've done anything that merits that honor? My dear Lady, the mere fact that you are _here_ is enough." He smirked at me around the end of his curved pipe. "Has anyone told you that you are to attend Lord Elrond's Council tomorrow, as well?"

I sat up excitedly. "I'm going to the Council? Tomorrow?"

"Certainly. You shall be part of our discussion."

Folding my arms over my crossed legs, I shifted in the pillows, my excitement abruptly turning to unease. I realized all at once, with a sickening shock, that I was viewed by most as a Problem — they were going to talk about me at the Council of Elrond, like the Ring. I swallowed nervously. "Are you… going to try and send me back, sir?"

The lines on Gandalf's withered face appeared to deepen. He didn't answer immediately, and a wisp of curling smoke passed between us. "Whether or not you return to your own time is not the decision of any that dwell in Middle-earth."

As the wizard spoke, the jubilant Elvish song changed to a mournful melody. A single vocalist cried out in desolation, her long and tragic note resounding through the hall alone until it was joined by other pitches low and woeful. Releasing a shuddering breath, I fell back into my cushions, tears burning my eyes. I imagined a fair Elf standing on a rocky shore before the Sea, her arms stretched to the West and her head tilted back to the stars. The world was fading…

_A Elbereth Gilthoniel,_

_silivren penna míriel_

_o menel aglar elenath!_

And with that somber image in my mind and the Elves' song to Elbereth ringing in my ears, I fell fast asleep.

* * *

I couldn't have said how much time had passed when I felt a hand gently shaking me awake, and I opened my eyes to see Bilbo Baggins standing over me in my room. Early morning sunlight was spilling onto my bedspread through the gray tree branches outside, making Bilbo's white hair shine.

"It's time, my dear," the hobbit said, helping me to sit up. He was wearing one of his nicer overcoats, and his breeches had obviously been pressed recently. The cuffs of the long, loose sleeves on his clean shirt partly covered his wrinkled hands. The hobbit sighed and patted my head. "You'd best start getting ready for the Council, now."

Grumbling, I rubbed at my eyes and kicked off my blankets, not bothering to ask how I had gotten from the Hall of Fire to my bedroom. "How long do I have?"

"You have enough time to get dressed and then find Gandalf and me in the gardens," the hobbit replied. He drew away, clasping his hands at his back. "You'll hear the warning bell — that's when we'll need to head for the main house."

"All right, thank you, Bilbo," I muttered, staggering to the washbasin sitting on a bureau against the wall. "I'll try to be down there in a few minutes."

Bilbo said I was welcome, but hesitated on his way to the door. "I was wondering," he said, after a moment, "what you were planning on wearing."

I splashed cold water on my face. "I don't know," I said, stopping to consider his question. I pulled open a drawer of my bureau and pursed my lips. "I think Nátucien took my dresses to be washed and mended yesterday. Could I just wear what I had on at the feast last night?"

"You could," he mused. "But didn't the Elves leave you any of their gowns?"

Dragging my hands through my curls, I made a face at the hobbit. "I couldn't wear those!"

Bilbo came to stand next to me, and he wondered innocently, "Why not?"

I picked up a set of intricately beaded crimson robes from the drawer. "Bilbo, can you imagine me in something like this?" I said imploringly, dropping the robes. "I wanted to wear something plain to the council, and not draw so much attention to myself."

He laughed. "You would not have done that anyway, my dear Lady." Rummaging through the drawer's contents, he found the simplest gown that had been given to me. It was a dark and fluid silvery-blue, made of a fabric like thick silk. Its sleeves were long, billowing out from tight decorative bands of gold on the upper parts of each arm, and a delicate filigree ornamented the neckline. "This will do, don't you think?" Bilbo said, offering it up to me.

"Bilbo," I sighed, shaking my head, "it won't look right on me — I'm not an Elf."

"Nor are you a Hobbit, but you've been wearing our outfits since you got here," he said, hobbling away on his old legs triumphantly. "Gandalf and I will meet you in the gardens, Milady!"

I smiled at his back as it disappeared behind my door and, heaving another sigh, changed hurriedly into the gown he had chosen.

_It's comfortable, at least_, I decided, peering at myself in my mirror.

My reflection frowned. Slightly queasy, I stared at the ordinary-looking girl in Elvish clothing before me, and felt worry churn in my stomach. I didn't want to go to the Council anymore; I was afraid of what they would decide to do with me, afraid of being thought of as a threat. If they were to demand of me, _How much do you remember?_ then I knew that I would have to tell them everything that my memory still held — and after that, there was the matter of what was to be done with me —

I heard the warning bell ring out piercingly from Elrond's quarters, and I jumped. Lifting my skirts, I didn't bother with any shoes and went running from the room, into the hall and down the stairs leading to the gardens. The first Elf I passed on my way was a tall and slender maiden clothed in green.

"Excuse me, have you seen Gandalf the Grey or Bilbo Baggins?" I inquired breathlessly, skidding to a stop. I glanced up at the early sunlight on the Mountains above her, which were capped in mist.

"They have just gone with the young Master Frodo to the main house," she said, pointing ahead. "If you hurry, you shall catch them."

"Thank you," I panted, and dashed off again.

Following the winding footpaths that I had traveled with my friends in the past few days, I eventually came upon Gandalf, Bilbo, Frodo, and Sam as they mounted the stairway before Elrond's house.

The elder Baggins saw me and called, "We were getting worried about you, Jorryn!"

"I'm here," I huffed, taking the steps two at a time to catch up with them, nearly tripping on my dress, "I made it."

I attempted to straighten myself and smooth my skirts. "Very nice outfit, Miss Jo," Sam mumbled to me, pushing at his rolled-up sleeves. "I can tell you didn't get _that_ from any of the dress-shops in Hobbiton."

"No, Sam," I giggled, meeting Frodo's sparkling gaze when it was cast back to the gardener and me.

We were brought to an open porch on the far side of Elrond's main house. It was circular and wide, overlooking the valley and the rushing Loudwater, and was bathed in cool radiance, but those who had already gathered there looked stiff and grim. Lord Elrond rose once we had entered, and he motioned Frodo to a seat at his side. I sat between Gandalf and Bilbo, aware of the many stares that went with me across the porch and to my chair. Sam placed himself on the floor near the doorway.

"Here, my friends," began Lord Elrond, standing regally before the Council, "is the hobbit Frodo. Few have ever come here on an errand more urgent."

I lifted my eyes. Aragorn was across from me alongside many other dignified Men, and beyond them were the Dwarves and Elves. I recognized Glóin among his folk. Of the Elves I knew Glorfindel, and I recognized the Elf that Merry, Pippin, and I had encountered in Elrond's library days ago.

Elrond folded his arms, continuing, "With him is the Lady Jorryn, who has come to Middle-earth by the grace of the Valar and journeyed through dangers unnamed to dwell in Imladris."

I flushed at my introduction, but the Elf-lord overlooked my discomfort and pointed out to us the members of the Council I had not met; Galdor, an Elf from the Grey Havens on the western shores, and Erestor, chief of Elrond's counselors. "And there sits Legolas Greenleaf, son of Thranduil the King of Mirkwood," said Elrond, indicating the Elf I had seen before in the libraries. The Elf-prince's face was youthful and smooth, and his eyes were the color of the Sea. He was sitting a few chairs away, his hair shining like rays of the sun on his shoulders, his clothing green and brown.

Elrond turned next to the Dwarves, his head nodding toward the tough warrior beside Glóin. The Dwarf held an axe, his gloved hands resting upon the double-sided head comfortably. His hair and beard were both rough, the color of red earth. "This is Gimli, son of Glóin, a valiant Dwarf of the Lonely Mountain."

Lord Elrond faced Gandalf and gestured to the man sitting beside Aragorn, across the way from us. "Here is Boromir, a man from the southern kingdoms," he said. "I have asked him to join us in council, for here his questions will be answered."

My eyes went to the man from Gondor. He was looking at us darkly. He appeared to be the youngest of the Men; his hair was straight and brown, cut just above his broad shoulders, framing a proud face with a strong jaw. A horn was on his lap, and a sword at his side.

It was all I could do to stop myself from gasping aloud while Elrond went around introducing the characters I knew so well. I was filled with excitement and wonder — these were the very people who would soon save Middle-earth!

The meeting began with Glóin, who had news from the Lonely Mountain. He spoke of messengers from Mordor asking about hobbits, what they were, and where they lived. The Rider had offered them the friendship of Sauron in return for "a little ring, the least of rings," which had been stolen from him long ago.

Elrond was resting with one of his long-fingered hands covering his mouth. "You have done well to come," he said. "You will hear today all that you need in order to understand why the Enemy sought you. What shall we do about this Ring he seeks?" His gaze swept the gathered Council. "That is the purpose for which you are called here. Now things shall be shared, things that have been hidden from all but a few until this day."

The Elf told the story of the Ring from its beginning in the Second Age so long ago, when Sauron forged it in secret to hold power over the rings he had given to Dwarves, Elves, and Men. He recounted the tale of the Elves and of the great Kings of Númenor, and the Last Alliance that they formed together against Mordor. I sat mesmerized, listening to Elrond speak of marching with Gil-galad and his host and seeing Isildur, the son of Elendil, cut the One Ring from Sauron's hand with the shards of his father's sword, Narsil. Isildur had taken the Ring for himself.

"And so Sauron was diminished, but not destroyed," Elrond said. "His Ring was lost but not unmade. But now, to our sorrow, the One has been found."

Boromir suddenly stood, his mail raiment rustling. "By your leave, Master Elrond," he said. "In the land of Gondor the blood of Númenor remains strong. We have been the only defense against the rising evil of Mordor." Pressing a fist to his armored chest, the man walked about the circle of chairs, looking down at each of us in turn. He barely spared me a fleeting glance. "But I don't seek allies in war. I come now to Elrond to ask for counsel. A dream came to me at Osgiliath, and in that dream, the eastern sky grew dark. In the West a pale light lingered, and out of it I heard this cry:

_Seek for the Sword that was broken:_

_In Imladris it dwells._"

Boromir came before Elrond, swallowing grimly. "I knew Imladris was the name among the Elves of a far northern house, where Elrond Half-elven dwelt."

Aragorn raised himself to his feet, unsheathing his sword. He threw it on the table in the center of our circle, and the blade clattered sharply against the stone. It was in two pieces. "Here," the Ranger said gravely, "is the Sword that was Broken. This is the blade that separated Sauron from his Ring of Power."

Boromir's eyes went from the shattered weapon to Aragorn, and back. "Who are you?" he demanded at last, undaunted.

"He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn," said Lord Elrond, "and he is descended from Isildur."

"_This_ is Isildur's heir?" said Boromir, a faint scowl playing upon his features. He glared at Aragorn's unshaven face and unkempt clothing.

Frodo jumped up, a hand on the pocket of his vest, crying, "The Ring belongs to you, then, and not to me at all!"

Aragorn's mouth tipped into a brief, sad smile. "It doesn't belong to either of us."

"The time has come," said Elrond, laying a hand on the table where the shards of Narsil were placed. "Bring forth the Ring, Frodo."

I saw the Baggins stiffen, his fingers tightening around his breast pocket. But after a second of hesitation, he drew it out obediently, putting it beside the hilt of Aragorn's sword. The gold flashed and glimmered repulsively in the sun, and Bilbo sat up a little beside me.

"Behold, Isildur's Bane," said Elrond.

We all looked at it, and I sensed my stomach twisting. Frodo returned to his seat, pale and shaken, gripping the wooden arms of his chair. I wanted to reach for his hand and comfort him, but I feared that any movement would send me lurching for the Ring.

"Isildur's Bane," echoed Boromir at last, breathing heavily.

Aragorn only looked at him steadily. Setting his jaw, Boromir turned back to Elrond and said, "How do the Wise know that this ring is truly Isildur's? How would it reach Imladris?"

Elrond bade Frodo to recount our journey from Hobbiton to Rivendell. Members of the Council interrupted the younger Baggins at every pause, wanting to know everything about the behavior of the Ringwraiths and of Frodo's experience with the Ring; they were especially interested in what had happened at Weathertop. Frodo sat down again after he had struggled through the whole of his broken narrative.

"We may have good reason to believe that this is indeed the Great Ring," said the Elf named Galdor, of the Grey Havens, when Frodo was finished, "but may we not hear other proof? Where is Saruman? He more than any knows the lore of the Rings, yet he is not here. What is his counsel?"

Gandalf had been resting silently with his staff across his knees since the beginning of the Council, and now he spoke up. "Some, Galdor, would think the pursuit Frodo has endured is proof enough."

"Does Saruman know all we have heard?" Galdor persisted.

"When Sauron returned to the Dark Tower many years ago," said Gandalf, deftly evading the Elf's question, "he was searching eagerly for the Ring, and the Council worried he had heard something of it that we had not. Saruman assured us the Ring had been lost forever, but now I believe he knew all along that the One was still in Middle-earth."

The wizard sighed and stood his staff up between his feet, grasping the wrought wood and leaning forward to nearly rest his forehead on it. He looked to me as I watched him intently, and he held me in his stare for many seconds before going on. "I feared long ago that Frodo's ring was the One, but I let the matter rest. Then in Gondor, among Denethor's histories, I found a record from Isildur himself, a record that spoke of a Ring upon which a secret script could be revealed whenever it was heated by fire.

"Upon this very ring," Gandalf said, "the letters that Isildur reported may still be read, if the thing is set in fire. I have done so, and in the gold I have read these ancient words:

_Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul._"

The instant Gandalf began to speak the incantation, pain spiked through my skull, and the afternoon sky above us was covered in a black shadow. The Ring, still on the table, seemed to suddenly glow with evil fire, one burning source of light in the darkness. Gandalf had arisen slowly, his voice mutilated by the words of Mordor — he sounded cold and fierce, like peals of a hammer against burning iron. I sat shuddering, but the moment passed, and sunlight streamed down once more.

"Let us hope that none will ever speak it here again," said Gandalf, reduced to his old stooping form. He faced the Elves still trembling behind him. "And now I will answer Galdor's other questions. What of Saruman, and what are his counsels?

"After my discovery, I rode with all haste to Orthanc seeking the aid of Saruman, but I found him changed. He has studied the Enemy too long, and now he has fallen into darkness. He seeks the One Ring for himself."

"Saruman has betrayed us?" cried Galdor.

"I didn't know of his treachery," Gandalf said regretfully, "and I spoke to him freely of the whereabouts of the One Ring. Furthermore, I revealed the Lady, and she now has become part of our plight."

I started in shock, not expecting to be mentioned so soon, and the incredible force of the Council's scrutiny fell on me. Trying to keep the self-conscious heat from blazing on my cheeks, I begged Gandalf inwardly to go on with his tale.

"And who _is_ the Lady?" wondered Galdor, somewhat mockingly. "Elrond has said that she travels with the grace of the Valar… why?"

My hands quivered in my lap, but Elrond shook his head. "All will be answered in due time, Galdor."

Gandalf the Grey bowed slightly, thanking Elrond, and continued, speaking about his imprisonment at Orthanc. He told us of his rescue by the Great Eagles, how he had gone to Rohan and tried to warn the king of that kingdom, and been ignored. Gandalf had ridden from there in an attempt to find us on the Road and had instead met the Nazgûl at Amon Sûl, and had been able to draw four of them after him to Rivendell. He had arrived three days before us.

Elrond nodded to the wizard. "The Tale of the Ring is now told, from first to last. Here we all are, and here is the Ring."

Silence fell heavily on the group, and some regarded the Ring while others shifted indecisively, for none knew what to do. The sun had swung high into the cloudless atmosphere. I felt drained after so much storytelling, but my heart was pounding — I was still not completely over the fact that I was at the Council of Elrond, listening to tales that I had only read about before.

"There is still the matter of the Lady," said Erestor eventually, speaking for the first time. He waved his hand vaguely toward me. "Why has she been summoned to our Council?"

Gandalf lifted his bushy eyebrows questioningly in my direction. I wasn't sure what he wanted me to do, so I just gave a tiny, clueless shrug, and the wizard turned to Erestor, saying firmly, "Know first, Erestor, that the Lady Jorryn is no mere Daughter of Man. The Enemy seeks her almost as eagerly as he seeks the One.

"The Lady was found, long before Frodo's departure from the Shire, on a hill above Hobbiton, alone and unconscious. I was in the Shire making a delivery to Bilbo at Bag End at that time, and I met Frodo and his friends on my way to the Hill, just before the young Baggins came upon the Lady."

I bit my lower lip, trying to shut out everything and everyone except Gandalf. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the Elves glancing doubtfully from the wizard to me, and Boromir was frowning beyond him. I knew all of this part of my tale already, having been told during my first days in Middle-earth; however, the wizard's next words shocked everyone, including me.

"We took her to Bag End, and I spent many long hours sitting over her, tending a wound in her shoulder and making sure that she did not slip away to a place of no return. In her feverish state, the Lady often talked in her sleep, and soon, I realized that her language was not of Men, Elves, or Dwarves. Hers was a speech completely unfamiliar to me."

This revelation smacked me squarely in the stomach. Inexplicably bewildered, my jaw slackened, and I gaped vacantly up at Gandalf, not sure if I had heard him correctly. I opened and closed my mouth many times before finally managing to force out weakly, "What do you — I was speaking a different _language_?"

"How, then, can she understand you now?" questioned a Dwarf. A murmur of uncertainty moved through the group of Men sitting nearby.

Gandalf turned to me, gripping his staff. His eyes were clear and bright beneath his furrowed brow. "The Common Speech of Middle-earth is Westron, Lady Jorryn," he told me.

"Isn't… that the same as English?" I said faintly, searching his gloomy, wizened countenance for an explanation.

The wizard softened and replied gently, "If that is the language you were speaking in your earliest days here, then no, it is not the same."

"But — how can — " I peered around him to Elrond, who was standing unmoving beside the table where the Ring was still placed. He said nothing. "I — I don't understand how I — "

"I was able to perform a spell over you during your sickness," said Gandalf coolly, moving away from me, "which allowed you to speak and understand the Common Tongue. I then was able to make out your mutterings: you spoke of fireworks and cold and the friends you had left behind."

I blinked, still trying to absorb this new addition to my story. Was such a thing even possible? Why hadn't Gandalf told me earlier? Did this mean that I had completely forgotten how to speak English? _How on earth _—

One of the Men challenged, "But whence came the Lady, and what has she to do with our peril?"

Gandalf drew himself to his full height, as if he were preparing for their disbelief, and he proclaimed, "She comes from a time far in the future — a time where the World is so changed that Middle-earth has passed away from it and nothing remains of us but children's stories. The Lady was brought here with such knowledge of our stories still in her memory. And if you desire proof," he said sternly, before Galdor could interrupt, "again I shall say that the Enemy's pursuit should be evidence enough."

"You know this?" said Erestor anxiously. "How? How can you be certain that she hails from a different Time?"

Aragorn broke in, "I can tell of one instance in which Jorryn has proven the extent of her knowledge, Erestor. As I was tracking the hobbits into Bree, the Lady was aware of my presence ere I had revealed myself. She spoke to me in the dark and used my name."

I ducked my head, blushing vibrantly, and heard Gandalf ask, "Is this true, Jorryn?"

Rubbing uncomfortably at my elbow, I grimaced. "Uh… yeah, it is."

Amusement was evident in Elrond's voice when he called to me. "There are those who yet need convincing, Lady Jorryn, and it is your part to make these things clear. Come," he said, motioning for me to stand, "tell us what you can recall."

I gulped, pushing myself up unsteadily. With as much eloquence as I could muster, I told the Council what I remembered of my time, and tried my best to explain to them how I had read of the Ring in a series of storybooks by J. R. R. Tolkien. They watched me seriously and with sober expressions, offering no argument for the present. I wrung my hands within my bell-like sleeves throughout the entirety of my speech, and my face grew hotter and hotter as I had to jump forward and back in many places to clarify myself. I was obviously no orator. I finished awkwardly with what had happened at Weathertop, how the Nazgûl had recognized me, and how Sauron knew of my existence.

"He said, 'You possess certain knowledge which could be of great help to the Lord of Mordor,' I think," I finished, remembering the feeling of the Nazgûl's hand on my throat at Weathertop. I exhaled shakily and focused on an area of Glóin's bristly white beard. "I realized then that Gandalf must have told Saruman about me, and he Sauron."

"But what reason does the Dark Lord have to pursue you so?" said Legolas, and it was the first time he'd ever talked to me. His voice was sweet and clear.

"I…" Hesitating, I risked a glimpse of Gandalf and Elrond nervously. They both dipped their heads in wordless acquiescence, and I turned back to Legolas, trembling, "It's because I know the fate of the Ring."

The Council regarded me with a sudden severity, and all noise seemed to fall away — even Bruinen's cheerful bubbling faded in the background. The One Ring glistened on its perch beside Narsil, and the anger and doubt in the eyes of the Dwarves, Elves, and Men faltered.

"What is the purpose of summoning us here, then?" said one of the Men furiously, leaping up. "Why does the Lady not simply tell us what we should do and have it done?"

"Do not speak of such things! It is all nonsense," snapped someone else.

I sank dazedly back to my seat, wanting to melt into a puddle or disappear from the spot. An awful pit opened in my stomach. _This is just great_, I thought dully.

"For good or ill," Elrond said, loudly and over the bickering Council members, "the Ring belongs to Middle-earth. It is for us to deal with, and no one else. The Lady cannot tell us what we must do. It would not be fair to put all our trust in her memory, leaving the fate of all in her hands."

The man who had cried out first spoke up again. "These are dark and desperate times. We need the assurance of both the Wise — and perhaps even the Unwise." He looked pointedly at me.

"Silence," Aragorn said sharply.

"I would help if I thought it would do any good," I said quietly, staring down at my hands. I felt my palms grow sweaty. "But I'm just one person. I don't remember everything, and I don't know what my presence has already changed."

Elrond said, "The threads of all Times are woven and rewoven constantly. We cannot be certain if we are, even now, set on a course to the Ending the Lady knows. Do not ask her to be the lone hope of Middle-earth."

"Nevertheless," Gandalf said, "Sauron knows of the Lady, and he would not hesitate to use her knowledge, however uncertain, against us. She must be kept safe."

"It seems we have more questions than answers," Boromir said.

"Indeed," Elrond said. "We have not come any nearer to our purpose. First, what shall be done with the One Ring?"

Silence again fell thick upon the Council, until Erestor finally spoke. "I had forgotten Bombadil," he said, halfheartedly. "Would he not take it and keep it within the bounds of his land, forever harmless?"

"No, not willingly," said Gandalf, squinting at the Elf. "If he were given the Ring, he would soon forget it, since such things have no hold over his mind."

The Elf-lord Glorfindel, glancing disdainfully at Erestor, placed his hands on his knees. "Then if the Ring cannot be kept from Sauron forever by strength, two things remain for us to attempt: to send it over the Sea, or to destroy it."

"We cannot destroy it by any craft that we here possess," said Elrond, "and they who dwell beyond the Sea would not receive it."

"We should seek a final end to this menace," Gandalf said.

"Who will solve this riddle for us?" wondered Erestor, and his eyes went to me.

Boromir shifted, his gloved fingers running the length of the great horn at his side. "I do not understand," he sneered, scowling at those about him. "The Great Ring has come into our hands to serve us in our very hour of need. It is a gift to the foes of Mordor!"

"You cannot wield it!" said Aragorn stonily. "None of us can. It belongs to Sauron, and it is evil."

Resentment flamed in Boromir's gaze. "So be it," he said, clenching his jaw. "You have chosen to search for the Fire in which the Ring was made, and it is folly."

"Well, then, let folly be our cloak!" said Gandalf. Appealing to the Council, he moved toward the Dwarves, placing his thumb into its accustomed place under his belt. "Sauron cannot imagine that any would refuse the Ring's power and seek to destroy it."

"Yes, at least for now, he will not suspect it," Elrond said, deep in thought, frowning at an innocent spot on the ground before him. His lips tightened into a thin line. "The quest must be undertaken, but it will be very hard."

"Who do you mean to take it, then?" Bilbo piped up.

"That seems to me what this Council has to decide," Glóin said.

In the hush that followed Bilbo's remark, my heart tightened within my chest, and blood drained from my cheeks. No one spoke. _This is it_, I thought apprehensively, my interwoven fingers beginning to shake. Still there was silence, and the members of the Council bent their heads, their eyes downcast. A breeze stirred the golden hair of the Elves; a few of the Dwarves grunted uneasily.

_This is it._

I looked heartbrokenly around the circle, my focus gliding over the gathered representatives of Middle-earth's Free Peoples, until my gaze fell ultimately on Frodo. The hobbit's face was an ashen white, and he was hunched back in his enormous chair, his inner struggle betrayed by his shuddering breath and timid expression. My heart broke for him. Slowly, he raised his curly head and stared directly at me, the question in his shining eyes.

I didn't allow myself to consider anything else. Forcing down the lump in my throat, I nodded. _It's you, Frodo. _

Without any argument, the hobbit turned away from me and, looking very small and frightened, slipped out of his seat. He faced Elrond. "I will take it," he said in a tiny voice. "I will take the Ring."

The Council looked upon the hobbit with great respect, a few of them slightly stunned, and Elrond's head came up. "It is a heavy burden," he pronounced. "But if you take it freely, I will say that your choice is right."

"But surely you can't send him off alone, Master Elrond?" came Sam's voice suddenly from the corner, where he had been sitting the whole time without making a sound. He jumped up and ran to his master's side, his plain shirt and vest disheveled.

"No indeed!" Elrond smiled, clasping his hands at his waist. "It is hardly possible to separate you from him, even when he is summoned to a secret council, and you are not."

Sam blushed and sent an indignant look to me around Frodo, but he crossed his arms doggedly over his chest. I grinned at him despite the icy chill that was spreading to my fingertips.

Gandalf chuckled at the two hobbits and stepped forward. "I will help you also, Frodo Baggins."

I could not believe that this time had come so soon. What was I to do? I hadn't had a chance to really think about what would happen to me after reaching Rivendell — I'd been preoccupied since Weathertop and worried about Frodo from the moment I had set foot in Elrond's House. Thinking frantically, I remained sitting, dimly aware of the fact that Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and Boromir passed in front of me on their ways to Frodo, and their pledges to protect him and the Ring only halfway reached my ears. The man from Gondor came last, seeming to slow reluctantly before he reached the group already collected around Frodo.

"You carry the fate of all Middle-earth, little master," he said, bowing to the hobbit.

The muscles in my legs twitched.

"Wait just a moment!" shouted someone in the grand doorway leading onto the terrace, and Elrond whirled just as Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took hustled into our midst and tripped before Gandalf and Aragorn. Joy and misery simultaneously welled up within me; my four brave, lovely hobbits were going to go straight into the danger and come out heroes…

"It's unfair!" cried Merry in dismay. He pointed accusingly at the Gamgee and leaned back to see into Lord Elrond's face. "Instead of throwing Sam out, you reward him! We want to go, too! You'd have to send us home in chains to stop us."

"Besides," Pippin piped up, tossing his head to clear stray curls from his vision, "we hobbits ought to stick together, and we will."

"You do not understand and cannot imagine what lies ahead for you," said Elrond darkly.

Interrupting, Gandalf cleared his throat and pointed out, "Neither does Frodo. I think, Elrond, that in this matter it would be well to trust to their friendship."

The Elf-lord arched one eyebrow, surprised that Gandalf defended the wishes of the mischievous pair. He frowned. "The Shire is not free now from peril, my friends, and these two I had thought to send back there as messengers to warn the people of the danger." Elrond sighed. "But let it be so."

I gnawed on the inside of my cheek, fighting to control my racing heart, which I was pounding so furiously against my ribs that it hurt. Of _course_ I wanted more than anything to go with the Fellowship and share their adventures, remaining with my dear friends, but I knew it was impossible. I could imagine myself getting killed or captured less than a week out of Rivendell, especially if both Saruman and Sauron were after me. I had barely survived the journey from Hobbiton to the Ford, and that was practically a pleasure trip in comparison to a trek toward Mordor. What was left for me?

"Lady Jorryn?"

I moved my feet numbly. Lord Elrond was looming over me, watching me squirm uncomfortably in my seat, his shimmering crimson robes draping gracefully down his strong form to meet with the hem of my Elvish gown. He knelt down to my level and peered into my face. "Why have you not spoken?" he asked.

"What do you want me to say?" I quavered, my insides twisting and turning.

His face was expressionless, but there was such a powerful light within his gaze that I felt even my heart was pierced. "Meriadoc and Peregrin have chosen to go with the Fellowship," the Elf said. "They cannot go back to the Shire as messengers, as I had planned. Would you have me send you in their place?"

Looking at him, I tried to remember when, exactly, the Shire would fall into Saruman's hands through Lotho Sackville-Baggins. How soon would the White Wizard have his men take over? My memories took me back to the Party fields where everything had been green and lush and perfect. That would all be gone by the time I saw it again.

"I can't go back to the Shire," I said softly, swallowing, hoping he wouldn't make me justify my statement. "It isn't safe."

A hint of sorrow crept into Elrond's countenance, hidden in the shadows that suddenly hung under his flashing eyes — he seemed to understand me even without an explanation. One of the Elves nearby said, so quietly that I could barely hear him, "Will all things fair fall to the Shadow and be lost?"

Elrond released his breath quickly and brought himself back up to a standing position. "You have but two choices, then, Lady Jorryn: to stay here, in Imladris, until whatever end… or to return to your own Time."

I craned my neck back to stare at him, my stomach slipping down into my legs. "My own time?" I repeated faintly. I lifted a hand and began to make imprecise, limp motions, as though it would help express my confusion. "How — I couldn't just — I don't — "

"By some fate or grace of the Valar you have been brought into Middle-earth, and your destiny lies with them," Elrond said, his words sharp and stressed, every syllable heavy with the significance of what he was suggesting. "If it is your wish to return to the time you knew, Lady Jorryn, then you must seek out the Lords of the West, for only they have the power to send you back. And though it is rare that any mortal should reach the lamplit quays of Avallónë, I will see it done if you ask."

The world was spinning around me. At the edge of my vision I saw Galdor bristle and make to stand, only to be stayed by Glorfindel's hand. I reeled. If I understood Elrond correctly, he was talking about sending me right out of Middle-earth, away from everything that had become familiar to me — he was offering me passage to the Undying Lands. Could that even be done? Were the Valar actual _beings_ that could be directly spoken to? The freezing deadness that had settled in my fingers intensified and crawled up my arms. _Blast it all_, I cursed inwardly. If only I had read _The Silmarillion_, maybe I would have known more about Valinor and those who dwelt there, but I hadn't, and I was at a complete loss.

"What do you think I should do, Milord?" I managed to choke out to Elrond, confusion fogging my thoughts. I felt the heaviness of the Council's collective stare on the top of my lowered head.

"That is not for me to decide."

_Of course it isn't_, I thought agitatedly, wondering why I had even asked. I winced, allowing my concentration to stray to the Fellowship. They were all waiting, patient and quiet, for me to choose what I wanted to do, looking heartbreakingly valiant. My gaze moved to the hobbits, and Frodo's blue eyes sparked slightly, a bright glint of hope in his pallid face. I sat up a fraction.

"I don't want to leave, Lord Elrond," I said finally.

Elrond turned away. "Very well, Lady Jorryn. You will stay here in Rivendell as one of the _elvellyn_, as an Elf-friend. Whatever protection we can give, you shall have."

The icy grip closed around my heart suddenly loosened, and happiness returned like a warm flame within my chest. "Thank you, sire," I whispered, blushing.

And Frodo smiled.


	29. The Departure of the Fellowship

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own any of Tolkien's characters or the world he created. The only character of mine (Jorryn) has decided to take a holiday in Tolkien's Middle-earth. No copyright infringement on any of J. R. R. Tolkien's works is intended. Jorryn sings an excerpt from "Go Where Glory Waits Thee" by Sir Thomas Moore in this chapter... which doesn't belong to me, either.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Once again, I must apologize for taking so long... but this chapter is even longer than the last:) I hope that makes up for the wait. Now we get to see how Jorryn gets better acquainted with the rest of the Fellowship, along with a few more of the Elves. Thanks to all who read and review--it's impossible to express how much I appreciate it. I hope you enjoy this chapter as well.

**28**

The eastern horizon was wreathed in early-morning flame. Clouds, their undersides golden in the vibrant, blossoming dawn, hung hazily about the towering peaks of the Misty Mountains, and the river Loudwater tumbled and tripped down into Imladris. The wintry air was cold and dry; Rivendell was silent. I felt I was the only one awake in Elrond's House to greet the new day.

Standing on the balcony adjacent to my quarters, I shivered and hugged my prickling arms to my stomach. As a breeze whispered through the bare silver tree boughs above, stirring the sweet-smelling leaves littering the floor at my feet, I turned to go back into my room. My bed was made and my belongings put away, but I still hadn't ventured out into Rivendell. I was alone in a quiet world, though not uncomfortably so, and I was enjoying my brief escape.

"So," I said, heaving a sigh to my calm surroundings, "what now?"

Many timeless weeks had come and gone since the Council of Elrond, but little had been spoken of it. No one seemed willing to think of the task that had been placed before us, me least of all — the departure of the Fellowship was imminent, but some Hobbitish quality that I had acquired from my friends prevented me from worrying about it or what was to come after. The hours seemed neither short nor long as they blended into a wonderful, never-ending slur of crisp mornings and quiet evenings, songs in the Hall of Fire and luncheons with my hobbits. We explored all of Rivendell together and met many of our gracious hosts, Elf-maids and dancers and lords and great councilors, beautiful ancient beings that I never grew tired of seeing.

And in this way, winter came upon us, harsh and foreboding. I was appalled at how many days had gotten away from me, and when I told Bilbo so, he only remarked, "Time doesn't pass here: it just is," and I didn't think he could have been any more correct.

Merry was always in the libraries, usually with a reluctant Pippin in tow, and whenever I was invited I went simply to watch the two friends peruse old maps and argue about exactly where on the ancient paper the Westfarthing of the Shire ended. I loved to see the Brandybuck's pointed ears go pink at Pip's pure, childish audacity. Frodo and Sam were often with us, and though Samwise would look with disdain on the bickering pair, Frodo chuckled fondly at his younger friends, sitting quietly beside me and offering me many wry grins.

I hadn't seen much of the newly appointed Fellowship except for the hobbits and Gandalf, for most of my time had been spent with Bilbo, who had asked me to assist with his writing. I was helping him clean up the notes about our journey that he had made previously with Frodo; from my journal I could help him figure the length of our travels and give him details that his nephew had not. I loved being with him, for his quarters at Rivendell were no more tidy than Bag End had once been — papers were strewn everywhere, along with books and drawings and Bilbo's favorite jackets.

My old Baggins had asked me absently one day, after finishing his notes about Weathertop, "How many chapters will their next story need, I wonder?"

I'd not answered, of course, but his question had compelled me to return to the memories of Tolkien's renowned books that I had shoved to the back of my consciousness long ago. Recalling my friends' adventures had kept me up for a good part of many recent nights. I had remembered the valor of Rohan and her old king, the destruction of Isengard by the Ents, the glory of Gondor returned… but foremost in my mind was when Mordor would fall. It was one of the few exact dates I remembered, a date I had meant to celebrate in my own time as a tribute to the books… March 25, the day before my brother's birthday. I had even written it in one of my calendars. Remembering a fictitious holiday had made me somewhat of an eccentric in my own time, but now I held that day in my mind always.

Again, I sighed, leaning upon the frame of the archway leading out to my balcony. "How can I wait here that long?" I asked the peaceful morning, a hint of restlessness in my tone. There was no response save for the cheerful bubbling of Bruinen.

A knock on my door brought me suddenly out of my thoughts, and it was followed a second later by boyish, lilting words. "Are you awake, Jo?"

I grinned and called, "Yes, Frodo, you can come in."

The hobbit stuck his dark head around the door, his face bright. His lips curled into a smile. "Good morning," he greeted, slipping inside.

"Good morning, Frodo," I replied, feeling my heart tremble with joy at the very sight of him. His simple tunic was clean and fresh, and he wore it then with the sleeves rolled up his arms. The hobbit ambled around my bed to me, and I nodded toward the sun just coming over the edge of the world. "It's early, Master Baggins — what are you doing up?"

"We're going up into the Mountains for some exploring," he said. Rays of young sunshine caught in his brilliant blue eyes and brown curls. "There's a pine-wood in the northern parts of the valley that I'd like to visit. Would you care to come along?"

"Certainly," I said happily, "just let me get my boots."

The last of autumn was clinging stubbornly to Imladris even as winter overtook it. Leaves were falling constantly from their lofty branches, abandoning the graceful limbs that rattled gloomily in the chill wind coming down the mountainsides. Snow was visible on a few far-off peaks. The sky was clear and open above us, littered with only a few harmless clouds, and daylight was soon pouring radiantly down on the world. I took a cloak with me to Rivendell's main courtyard where Samwise, Pippin, and Merry were waiting for Frodo and me to join them.

"Here they are at last!" cried the Took, his favorite scarf pulled up over his pointed ears against the bitter air. "We were about to leave without you, dear cousin."

"You know better, Peregrin," Frodo smirked.

The weight of our last journey was obviously no longer on any of my friends' minds, and they weren't bothering to fret about what was ahead, either. They laughed and danced, their voices filling the woods with merry song as we passed over the rumbling Loudwater and began the trek up into the Mountains. We had not traveled for an hour when they decided to rest in a small hollow and start one of their Hobbitish games, which I was content to observe from atop a pile of crumbled stone.

I watched them run around me and through the dusty sunlight that managed to reach us through the thick pine trees. I wasn't sure what the object of the game was, but I was fairly sure that Merry and Pippin cheated, and they earned themselves a few good tackles from Frodo and Sam. They tumbled over each other in the grass, yelling and whooping through the capes pulled over their heads.

_They're just children_, I thought, unable to suppress my giggles.

"What are you laughing at, Jo?" Merry demanded after getting smothered by Frodo, sitting up with twigs and grass in his hair.

Embarrassed, I put a hand over my mouth. "I'm sorry… I just haven't seen you all have so much fun in a long time."

The hobbits struggled up the rocks to sit beside me, and Sam said, "I think we were with Master Bombadil the last time we had a chance for games, Miss Jo."

"After the Barrow-downs," remembered Merry, plopping down. His gaze flitted about his surroundings for a moment, and then he said abruptly, "I wonder where Strider's gotten off to."

"You never know with him, Mr. Merry," shrugged Sam. The Gamgee reached over and took a weed from where it grew through a crack in our boulder and stuck it between his lips. "No offense to him, of course, but he's one of the strangest fellows I expect to ever meet. Very proud and solemn he is, if you take my meaning."

"I think he's probably off somewhere with Gandalf," I said, grinning warmly at Sam.

"Most likely doing Big People things," added Merry.

Pippin, still out of breath, plucked broken leaves from his shirt. "Good old Gandalf," he said. "No one in the Shire ever realized what an important wizard he was."

"And they never will," said Frodo wistfully. The Baggins peered out into the woods, his expression sad. "There's a lot they'll never know, Pip."

I hugged my knees to my chest, missing the rolling green hills of the Shire and Bag End's lavish halls as much as my hobbits did. Our conversation faded to silence, Frodo's words drowned out in the sound of the Loudwater's falls, a faint sigh behind the rustling of trees. The Baggins cupped his hands in his lap, where a shaft of sunlight fell, and the light pooled in his small palms like liquid gold. I was about to ask him if there'd been any news from the Shire or its borders, but I looked at them and saw their gloomy, sober expressions, and I held my tongue.

"We have seen a lot, I'll admit that much, Mr. Frodo," Sam said at last. The weed in his mouth bobbed. "My Gaffer would have a thing or two to say about what we've been up to these last few weeks."

"I'd wager he'd have _more_ than just a thing or two to say," snorted Pippin. "You'd be closer in saying 'a whole earful.' "

The Gamgee shrugged, and Merry pointed out calmly, "It'll be a long time before we have to worry about facing the Gaffer or anyone else in Hobbiton again."

A strange burning sensation rose in my chest, as it always did when someone discussed something about what was ahead for Middle-earth and her Free Peoples. Every time I heard mention of a group of scouts returning, every time somebody asked about the armies of Sauron gathering in Mordor, my heart jerked painfully.

At Merry's offhand remark, Frodo's fingers went absently to the chain around his neck, and I pressed my trembling lips into a tight, thin line. For many moments there was uncomfortable quiet, until the Baggins stood and said loudly, "We'd better get on if we wish to return by midday meal."

Pippin immediately broke into a speech about how he'd _told_ Merry they needed to bring a breakfast with them, but I only heard Sam, climbing down from the rocks at my side, his sandy curls hiding a flashing gaze: "My poor Gaffer would have a thing or two to say about us going right into Mordor, too, and no mistake…"

That dull ache remained in my bosom for the rest of the day; all other joys drowned in it. Gandalf watched me closely during afternoon tea, and I could force myself to help Bilbo write for only half an hour before supper. When I met Boromir in the gardens that evening, I answered his handsome, sweeping bow with no more than a halfhearted nod. I tried to brush by him and walk up the steps to my quarters, too harried to talk with him, but was clipped by his elbow. Such a blatant discourtesy caused me to turn and frown up at him in perplexity.

"You look troubled, Milady," the man said in a frank tone. A smile, not so unpleasant as I expected it to be, played across his strong features. His dusty brown hair framed a jaw covered by a short, trim goatee, and a fur-lined cloak was over his broad shoulders. The deep blue of dusk threw his dark face into deeper shadow.

My eyebrows twitched even further into my frown. He had never addressed me so directly before, nor ever expressed any interest in my disposition. "Sire?" I wondered warily.

He ducked under a limb of a large shrub, stepping closer to me. "Might I be of any help to you?"

Confused by his surprising behavior, I cast my stare to the delicate Elvish statues around us, and when I did not respond right away, Boromir took a seat on a stone bench nearby so that his head was even with mine. "You are very kind, sire," I said at last, standing as tall as my small form allowed, "but I'm fine, really."

He rested his elbows on booted knees, chain mail rustling, and nodded benignly. A second passed, and he spoke again, "There is news — have you heard that all the scouting parties but one have returned? We should be ready to depart before the month's end."

The ache in my chest flared. Though I saw many things in Rivendell that my hobbits did not, I hadn't been aware that so many scouts were already coming back. I had noticed only a few groups thunder in on horses and make straight for Elrond's main house. What month was this — surely it was not already December?

I faced Boromir, arranging my countenance into mildly interested lines. "How many parties were sent out, Milord?"

"Several departed immediately after the Council was ended," the man said, "and many of the companies included the close kin of the Lords Elrond and Aragorn. Some have ventured as far as Tharbad and Rhosgobel."

"I hadn't heard that," I mused, my voice thin, hoping that my naivety wasn't too obvious. The places he mentioned were lost on me. "I've been with the Bagginses since arriving here. Did the scouts find anything?"

"No, they brought back little news, for no trace of the Ringwraiths or the creature Gollum has been seen these two months." His head quirked slightly, almost as if he glimpsed through my mask what truly distressed me, and he questioned bluntly, "How long is it since you came to be with the Halflings, Milady?"

"I couldn't tell you, sire — a long time," I bumbled.

"I can imagine how difficult your separation will be."

Uncertain of the conversation's direction, I swallowed and nodded, "Yes, sire."

"And what of your own people? Are we in Rivendell the first Men, besides the Lord Aragorn, that you have seen since your arrival in this time?"

"There are many Men in the village of Bree, near the borders of the Shire," I said, "though they are not nearly so noble as the ones I've met at Rivendell. I spoke only with two people, for I much preferred the company of the hobbits when we stayed at the inn there."

He laughed, and it was a rough, throaty rumble that brought warmth to his bold countenance. "Should you travel farther East, Milady, you may find folk of gentler nature."

"I don't know," I flushed, "but I _would_ like to see the great people of Rohan and Gondor."

"Perhaps you shall," he said, a flash of white teeth betraying the grin that still lit on his face.

I knew it was very unlikely that I would ever get farther than the Misty Mountains, and I sighed. "If I am able to see my friends again after this journey, I'll be happy no matter what, sire."

He looked at me intently and said, "Your love for them is great, Lady Jorryn, but you need not worry for the Halflings. I promise that no harm will come to them, even if our quest proves to be in vain. Does that put your mind to rest?"

I stared at him in abrupt wonder, and for a moment the burning pain left my heart. There was sincerity and compassion in his words, and they comforted me, even if I already knew what was to happen to both my hobbits and Boromir. So proud and harsh he had been at the Council that I had thought only such behavior could be expected of him, but I had been terribly wrong. This man from Gondor was imperious, and harder than ice, but he was not completely lacking in chivalry.

"It does, sire… thank you," I said, softening.

Still bent forward over his legs where he sat, he clasped his hands and bowed smilingly to me once more.

I returned his smile before moving away, telling him, "And it is not in vain."

* * *

Sleep would not come to me that night or the next. I was restless, and no matter how I tried, my thoughts could not be turned from my worry and my anxiety. The mantra w_hat if, what if, what if_ kept flitting about in maddening circles within my harried brain. I could no longer shove anything out of my mind like the hobbits to think about it later — so much talk of what was to come had shattered my determination to not let apprehension reign. After hours of tossing in my blankets and going over every significant happening that I could recall from Tolkien's tales, I decided to take a walk.

Still in my nightclothes, I opened the door to my room a fraction and slipped out, walking quickly down the spacious hall and descending the steps into the gardens. I made my way to one of my favorite places — the wide veranda overlooking the valley and Bruinen's falls — knowing the way well enough by then that I had no trouble in the dark. The air was chill and thick with the smells of rain and green grass, carrying the mists of the river up to where I rested. The moon was framed by silvery clouds in a lonely, ink-black sky, and when I looked for the constellation Menelvagor, he was nowhere to be found. I folded my arms on the protective stone balustrade enclosing the balcony and dropped my head upon my crossed wrists.

I found myself, once again, mourning the days I had lost, regretting the things I hadn't said or done, kicking myself for not trying to be with Gandalf or Aragorn or any of the hobbits more. Where had the months gone? Now, driven by desperation, I clung to my friends and probably grew to be an annoyance — but I wished so much to remember them all as they were _now_, before war and death changed them forever, that it was hard not to. I was constantly pressed by the thought that things would never be the same again once they left me… and I had always despised change.

"So you can't sleep either, Jo?"

I twisted around and discovered Frodo Baggins standing morosely behind me, at the edge of the gardens under the sweeping arms of a stone figurine. Pausing a moment to catch my stare, the hobbit moved slowly to stand at my shoulder, the blue embers of his eyes soft in the moonlight, hands in his pockets, most of his expression hidden in the shadows cast by the tangled fringe over his brow.

I was not surprised to see him awake, for I knew he'd probably left his room long before I had, troubled by thoughts more sinister than mine, so I simply shook my head, muttering idly, "No. There's too much to think about right now."

I felt his fingers brush through my unbound hair in a distracted sort of way, and a shiver teased my spine. "You shouldn't worry yourself, for whatever reason," the Baggins reprimanded gently.

Guiltily, I peered to the shrouded valley below us. "I know I don't have much reason to worry," I replied, "but I really can't help it. Knowing what's going to happen won't stop me from missing all of you."

Frodo laughed a little, sad and faint. "I'm sorry, Jo, I forget myself — I suppose it's hard for you not to fret, when your burden is as great as mine."

"Hardly," I said, bristling at his allusion to the Ring. I glanced up at him, my chin still perched atop my arms. "I'm just a girl who knows too much."

"And I'm no more than a hobbit with a gold trinket," he countered swiftly. The Baggins pressed a palm to his chest, checking for the cold cruel feeling of his precious little knick-knack, and I had to focus hard on the undistinguishable dark shapes of the river tumbling into Rivendell to keep from gawping eagerly.

"Don't be silly," I said, my voice shaking slightly. "You're going off to save Middle-earth — you've become a hero simply by agreeing to go with the Fellowship."

He gave me no reply, but his hand fell from the Ring about his neck, and somehow, my fingers found their way between his, squeezing lightly. He appeared so small and unprotected to me in the darkness, all his fears and doubts exposed, really nothing more than what he claimed to be. But I loved him doubly for it.

"Frodo," I said carefully, wanting immensely to lessen his uncertainty but aware that I couldn't tell too much, "there's no one else in the world who can do this."

The tiniest of smirks tugged at his mouth. "Gandalf and Elrond keep saying so, too, but I think you're the only one who can convince me of it."

"Then I'll say it more often, because it's true."

"Thank you," he muttered. I saw him glower moodily up at the Mountains just visible against the starless atmosphere, pale and craggy outlines, and he sighed, relenting, "But I had hoped — I'd hoped to remain here at peace for a little while, at least."

"I know, Frodo," was all I could say. I suddenly felt very drained, and I sagged against the balustrade. The thick air was burning my eyes and growing cold against my naked arms.

"Jo," the hobbit said quietly, vaguely, "I'm not as strong as everyone expects me to be."

Finding some long-buried courage, I pushed myself up, reached over, and swept his curls away from his smooth, fair brow. "Yes, you are, Frodo Baggins, and you should know that as well as anybody," I retorted firmly.

"My strength comes from others," he said unhappily. "I don't know what I would have done these last few weeks without Sam and the others — and you. I would not have made it this far."

"You would have done fine without me," I said, knowing it was true, "and you'll still have the others with you in the Fellowship. Take heart from Aragorn, and Gandalf, and Sam."

"Jo…" he heaved resignedly, his mouth a thin line. I understood what he wanted to say: _It isn't that easy_.

But I echoed, in the same tone, "_Frodo_…" He tilted his head to watch me as I stretched wearily and told him around a yawn, "Please don't worry any more. Let's go to bed. I'm tired, and you need your rest."

A week later, I was having breakfast in one of Lord Elrond's grand private dining rooms with Gandalf, Elrond, the hobbits, and one other Elf I had not met until that very morning; he was a lean, heavy-lidded councilor with a sad gaze, one who said little and listened to our chatter with polite interest. He was so unobtrusive that several times I forgot that he was sitting only a few chairs away from me. Gandalf and Lord Elrond presided over us all with gentle splendor, the wizard laughing and smoking with the hobbits while the Elf sat erect, directed food around the table, and simultaneously watched us shrewdly, as a father supervises his children. Bilbo had taken leave of us many minutes before, declaring that he needed "a bit of quiet time" in his quarters, and none had gone with him. I hoped to spend hours at that table, enjoying the sunlight slanting into the room through tall, open windows and marveling at how the dew shone like glass on the ferns and the turf outside Elrond's quarters.

"We've not had one of our own good friendly stories in a long while," remarked Pippin over his ham and potatoes, after Sam had finished giving a doleful lecture about what a state the Gaffer's gardens must be in without him at home to tend them. The Took nodded in my direction and ordered, "Jo, tell us something more about your Time."

"More?" I smiled at him around the silken napkin pressed to my mouth. "I thought you'd had your fill of all that — I don't know what else I could tell you."

"Tell us something we won't believe," prodded Meriadoc, and he added quickly, "but don't make it anything sad or depressing, mind you."

"All right," I said, replacing my napkin in my lap and catching the piercing stare of Gandalf through a haze of pipe-weed smoke. I dug briefly through my mind for something unbelievable. In this age, much that I had once taken for granted seemed impossible even to me, and I wondered how Men had ever come up with some of the things that I had been so used to, once. Elrond, nonchalant, poured me more milk as I thought, and the hobbits waited expectantly for my answer.

At last, I told them in a frank tone, "I don't know if it's unbelievable, but I used to ride horses in a vacant field next to my house, right in the middle of downtown. We owned two of them, a mare and a stallion."

Pippin snorted disappointedly. "How glad we are to know that those huge brutes will exist so many years from now, while Hobbits have disappeared from the face of the earth!"

I shrugged feebly, not sure what more I could say. "Well, it was sort of uncommon to be able to ride in my time — not everyone owned horses or ponies then. Riding was sort of a novelty."

Merry frowned, his adorable face filling with perplexity. "Well, how are people supposed to get from one place to another without a pony? Do you have to walk everywhere?"

"No, we take cars," I said, and I regretted the words the instant they flew off my tongue. How could I explain something like an automobile to hobbits and Elves without having to go into motors and mechanics and other things that I knew very little about? Everyone seated about me only stared blankly, waiting for me to go on. One of Gandalf's bushy gray eyebrows arched with interest, though he said nothing, and I forced back my giggles.

"Oh, dear," I blushed, waving my hands lamely, "a car is just like — a horseless wagon. It's like a wagon that drives itself."

"Begging your pardon, Miss Jo," Sam grimaced confusedly, and he tapped my arm, "but how does that — work?"

"It's hard to explain," I muttered, biting my lip, casting around for a piece of parchment on which I could perhaps draw an example of what I spoke.

Frodo chuckled at my distress and shook his head. "I don't think it's for any of us to understand, Sam."

Elrond chose not to dwell on something he couldn't possibly comprehend, and instead he asked, "Have you much skill as a rider?"

"I've never fallen off, if that counts for anything," I said, wincing, remembering times when I had come quite close.

He nodded, amusement in his noble features. "I believe that would indeed count for something, Milady."

I grinned toward the Elf and reveled in the laughter of Gandalf and Frodo, irrepressible joy welling up in me. Everything around me appeared to suddenly glow beautifully — the small patch of radiant blue sky I could see in the corner of the window's frame opposite me through the canopy of trees made my spirits soar, and the warm sun shone on the silverware at my fingertips. My friends were happy, and so, of course, was I.

_Why can't things stay like this forever?_ I wondered. I was still beaming merrily when another voice called to us from the doorway of the dining room, at my back.

"A good morning to you, fair guests!"

We all turned to see Arwen Evenstar, standing regally under the archway separating the dining room from one of Elrond's vast halls, her shimmering gown flowing down her slender form and arrayed about her in a graceful cascade of light burgundy fabric. On her brow was a circlet of fashioned silver, and her waist was surrounded with a chain of sparkling jewels.

Two others accompanied her, waiting behind, Elvish lords in robes equally breathtaking and with the same heavy air of importance. I realized immediately that they must be twins, for so alike was the pair in appearance and stature that I had to look from one to the other for a moment to make sure I saw correctly; their faces were both long and sober, unmarked by age or lines of care, set with gray eyes exactly like Arwen's. Their dark-haired heads were bare, but swords were at their hips and bows over their shoulders. The beauty of the three of them, standing so close and watching us together, struck at my heart.

"Good morning," everyone replied, the hobbits and I peering curiously at the maiden's escorts. At the end of the table, Lord Elrond stood slowly with a slight, grim smile.

"Please forgive our interruption, _ada_," Arwen said, dipping her head. Her tender speech closely resembled Elrond's, for her words were soft but the syllables sharp. Elrond made no reproach, so she raised her arm in an elegant gesture toward the newcomers behind her, asking of the hobbits, "Friends, I don't believe you have met my brothers?"

"No, Milady," said Frodo politely, but recognition dawned on my face. I remembered the two of them from what I'd read in Tolkien's books — they were Elladan and Elrohir, the twin sons of Elrond, Arwen's only siblings. Their arrival surprised me, for I hadn't expected them to show up until the end of the story at the battle in Gondor. I couldn't think why they would be in Rivendell now. Arwen introduced the pair to those still sitting at the table, their names rolling pleasantly from her lips, and the brothers each nodded in greeting. I attempted to respond with a smile even though I was already having difficulty in telling the two apart.

"They have only just returned," Arwen went on to Elrond, speaking directly to the Elf-lord standing beyond us. When her father nodded and slipped away from his chair, gesturing for his sons to follow, Arwen explained to us, "For many long weeks they have been away, riding as scouts. They are the last to return."

The color and the warmth of my surroundings, so lovely a moment before, quickly faded away, and the room became cold and bleak. Arwen's words rang shrilly in my ears — _they are the last to return_.

I sat dumbly, distantly aware that Elladan and Elrohir were swishing by me on their ways to Elrond, pausing to bow to us. The Elf who had rested silently at Elrond's side all morning made to get up, questioning hesitantly, "My lord?"

The twins turned, their eyes bright, and I think it was Elrohir who waved the Elf back to his seat. "We will speak naught of our errand except to the Lord Elrond," he said sternly. A moment later, the three Elves had gone, disappearing to another part of Elrond's great house.

But still I remained, frozen with shock, ice coursing through me and robbing all sensation from my limbs. Gandalf was talking quietly with the Elf that had been ordered to stay behind, promising that all would be revealed in due time, and the hobbits were making casual remarks about the look and manner of Elrond's sons, but I could say or do nothing. Numb, I dropped my spoon onto my empty plate. Arwen might have told us, rather, that my friends were going to die in a matter of days — it would have meant the same to me. The last scouts had returned, the hobbits were going to be stolen away from me, and nothing would ever be the same again.

Despairing, I looked everywhere but at the wizard or hobbits, thinking I would burst into tears at any second. I glanced toward the doorway, contemplating escape, and then noticed that Arwen was still there, watching me pityingly. I was cut by the sharpness of her gaze, and I paled.

She glided over to the table, unbidden, so discreet that my friends didn't see her come and bend over me slightly so that she could press her hand into my unruly hair. She whispered kindly, "You knew that this day would come, _Mistadiel_. You cannot waver now… we must be strong for those who leave us behind."

I fought the knot in my throat, blinking hard and managing to find joy in the fact that Arwen Undómiel was offering me comfort. She and I, two who loved the members of the Fellowship, were not so different when it came to this matter, and I realized I was acting like a foolish child when she suffered just as much as I. Abashed, I turned to her and said, "Thank you."

She moved away, understanding and sadness in her eyes, and a moment later she spoke clearly to all present. "I will call on the other members of the Company and bring them to join you, friends. My father will want to speak with you all. Miluihîr," she called to the remaining Elf next to Gandalf, "will you accompany me?"

He rose obediently, and they departed, leaving the rest of us to finish our breakfast in peace. Our carefree, cheerful morning of just a short while before had become a very grave affair, but the hobbits seemed not to notice.

"What do you suppose all that business with Elrond's sons was about?" Pippin piped up curiously.

Gandalf, leaning back in his chair with his rough gray cloak drawn about him, crossed his arms over his chest. "They journeyed farther than any of the scouts we sent out, Peregrin, down the River Silverlode into a strange, rarely traveled country. Who can tell what they might have seen or heard in such foreign lands?"

Legolas was the first answer Elrond's summons, entering alone, dressed in robes of deep emerald, without a sword or bow. His golden hair was braided back from his handsome face, and he met us gracefully. Soon after him came Gimli, so wild and unkempt in comparison to the Elf-prince, his bushy, earth-red head for once not covered by a helm and his axe resting not in his hand but at his belt. The two did not speak with each other if it could be avoided, so Frodo asked the Dwarf about his father and the dealings of his home, and Legolas took up a conversation with Gandalf.

"Winter comes upon us swiftly, now," I heard Legolas say to the wizard amiably, his voice subdued and musical. "I do not expect to see a morning as fair as this until next year, at least."

"Yes, but let us hope that it doesn't come too swiftly with its frost and gloom," Gandalf answered. "Fine weather would not be a hindrance to us on our journey."

"Indeed," agreed the Elf. He started and scowled for a moment when Gimli yelled fervently that the halls of his father were the grandest in all of Middle-earth, much to the delight of the hobbits and myself. Annoyed, Legolas continued, louder, "I am eager to pass out of the Mountains and meet the Winter on the plains, rather than delay here."

"It matters little, I think. But we shall leave soon enough, Legolas." Gandalf moved to his feet and walked around the table to his staff, where it was resting against the wall close to my chair and currently acting as a perch for his familiar wide-brimmed hat. He gripped the carven wood and brought it before him, examining the knotted rod as though he were seeing it for the first time. I watched, and his focus slipped from his staff to me, seated just past it, yet he said nothing.

I hadn't been listening to what the hobbits and Gimli had been talking about, so when the Dwarf whirled and thundered to me, "And what has the Lady to say to this?" I could only frown dumbly.

"I beg your pardon, sire?"

Sam was stuttering nervously at Frodo's side. "I — I only said that the caves in the mountains make me nervous, Miss Jo, when Master Gimli mentioned them — so deep and black they are, and Mr. Bilbo's told me a good lot of what he saw when he got lost under the Mountains — I meant no harm — "

"Your Mr. Bilbo saw goblin-caves and maggot holes, Master Samwise," said the Dwarf heatedly, "not the great caverns of my folk. If ever time permits, I will take you to see the splendor of the Lonely Mountain at my home in Erebor, and then you will think twice before scorning the homes of the Dwarves."

"Yes, sire," the hobbit gulped fearfully.

I beamed, "Not all caves are something to fear, Sam."

Gimli crossed his arms confidently, grunting in agreement, "Listen to the Lady, Master Samwise, for most certainly _she_ knows of what she speaks."

"Yes, sire," Sam repeated, and Gimli, appeased, went on with his tale to Frodo.

The Gamgee shuffled his feet and grumbled up to me, "It's not natural, Miss Jo, all that burrowing and mining. How can one do living without the green hills and the open sky?"

"I don't know, but from what I have seen, hobbits do their own share of burrowing, Mr. Sam," I said teasingly, poking him in his round stomach.

"Now, Miss Jo, you know what I meant," he murmured, injured, and I giggled.

Legolas suddenly bent down to me secretively, overhearing us with his sharp Elf ears. His long blonde hair brushed against my cheek. "The Dwarves don't need defending, Milady, though it is generous of you to do so," he said. "They would not appreciate an act so gracious from a Lady so fair."

And I flushed so crimson that Legolas's clear, tuneful laughter rang like a bell in the dining room.

Aragorn and Boromir appeared minutes afterward, Bilbo following narrowly at their heels. Since Elrond had not yet come back, Pippin asked for more food, and it was brought so that the hobbits could have their customary second breakfast. The men joined in on the meal, but I sat away from them with Gandalf and the elder Baggins, trying to quell the pain in my writhing stomach. I managed to ask Bilbo about what progress he had made on his book and his songs, and he answered me happily. Bilbo never failed to cheer me up.

"They say they'll sing my newest tune in the Hall of Fire this evening," he told me absentmindedly. "I don't know why the Elves do it, really — just to please and occupy a silly old hobbit, I suppose. My songs aren't at all worthy of Rivendell."

"No, Bilbo, I love your songs," I said earnestly, and Gandalf grunted, "You are a silly old hobbit simply because you say such things, my dear Bilbo."

My friends were well into their third helpings by the time Elrond returned with his sons. Gloomy and tired were their expressions, but they stood tall and their shoulders were squared. "The time has come," the Lord of Rivendell announced. "If the Ring is to set out, it must go soon. Do you still agree, Frodo, to be the Ring-bearer?"

The Baggins nodded. "I will go with the Fellowship."

"Then I cannot help you much, not even with wise words," said Elrond, placing a hand on Frodo's shoulder. "You will find both friends and enemies on the road, and I will send out messages as I can to those who might aid you.

"Are all here still willing to venture into this peril with Frodo the Ring-bearer?" Elrond questioned those around him, his voice loud and hard, his stare burning like gray flame. Elladan and Elrohir smiled a little, and, as they did so, managed to take a hundred years away from their stern faces — they were young and handsome, their full lips a faint pink and their wide stormy eyes framed by dark lashes. They filled me with hope.

"Yes," everyone of the Fellowship answered. I caught Pippin's high, sweet voice among the deeper ones of Gandalf and Boromir, and I couldn't stop hot tears from briefly blurring my vision.

"Then it is decided," sighed Lord Elrond, folding his arms over one another, "and in seven days the Fellowship must depart."

* * *

I was frantic; over the next week, my friends all seemed determined to be in different places at the same time so it was impossible for me to be with them all at once. Frodo spent much of his time with Bilbo in the old Baggins's room, but sometimes he was in the libraries or talking walks with Gandalf and Aragorn, speaking with them of their future perils, and I didn't dare to intrude. Merry, on the other hand, decided he'd had enough of the ancient maps and manuscripts and instead ran about Rivendell with Pippin, trusting that he'd learned enough, and it was very difficult to find them during the day. It was only in the evenings and at meals when we were all together, sitting in the Hall of Fire.

Sometimes I came upon Merry and Pippin with Boromir as the man instructed them in swordsmanship, and this was something I loved to watch. Boromir was a giant compared to the hobbits, but he trained them well, and the pair learned quickly. The man would fly about them both at once, his weapon flashing in the cold sun, calling out terse directions to my friends. Companionship developed quickly between the three of them.

Not wanting to be left out, I managed to coax Aragorn into teaching me something of the same on the afternoons he had free; the blade given to me by Bombadil had not been used once, and I wished to be able to wave it around at least somewhat convincingly. Even if Strider thought my request peculiar, he agreed to help, and in the short time we had, he taught me what was necessary for self-defense. Frodo came to observe a lesson once and participated in a quick contest with me, one that had Aragorn grinning bemusedly at us from his seat against a tree trunk the entire time. Frodo accidentally struck my fingers with the flat of his borrowed blade halfway through, and I'd been too shocked to do anything except drop my sword and clutch my knuckles in pain. I was clumsy with my weapon, always fearful that I would hurt myself, and Aragorn, very forgiving of my lack of ability, had made me promise to practice. But I never expected to use what little skill I had — these things were merely useful to know.

More and more often each day, I heard the Elves of Rivendell call me "Mistadiel" as I passed them in the halls or gardens or met them in the Hall of Fire. Nátucien greeted me in this fashion every morning when she brought my washed clothes back to my quarters. By the middle of the week, I was thoroughly perplexed. I knew nothing of the Elvish language, and to be christened with a name that I could not understand was somewhat discomfiting, though I loved the thought of being accepted like one of Elrond's own. I asked Bilbo about it after supper one evening, curiosity getting the better of me.

"Elves I have never seen before in my life are calling me by some other name like they've known me forever," I said to the hobbit, making my incredulity obvious. "I don't even know what they're saying to me."

"They know you much better than you think," the old Baggins answered, laughing heartily. "They always give names to that which they love. Aragorn is the Dúnadan to them, a Man of the West, and Gandalf is Mithrandír the Grey Wanderer. You, my dear Lady, are their Straying Daughter, Mistadiel. I thought Frodo had taught you enough Elvish for you to know that."

I blushed, and the odd phrase tugged at a deep memory. "Tom Bombadil called me that once," I murmured slowly, remembering, "but how could anyone here have known — "

"I couldn't tell you, and I doubt anyone is really sure," chuckled the hobbit.

The eve before the departure of Fellowship was filled with feasting and song and dance, many hours of merriment which ended late in the Hall of Fire. The hobbits and I sat together, once the eating was over, and listened to the tale of Beren and Lúthien in its entirety, my head resting lightly on Frodo's shoulder, one of my arms through Pippin's, the firelight dancing on the bare walls. Peeking up at us now and then, Merry, Bilbo, and Sam had flopped down in pillows before us, chins in their hands. Gandalf, Aragorn, Boromir, and Gimli reclined in chairs nearby, smoking their curved pipes, and Arwen sat at the feet of her father at the far end of the chamber, Legolas standing behind. These were the few that I noticed in the great hall — all other figures were drawn into the background and forgotten. Shadows played on the grave faces of my companions, but their eyes glimmered with resolve, and I was glad to share even a small part of their purpose. My unbearable anguish of the past weeks had been slowly reduced to a dull, throbbing ache, yet my heart still grieved. No seven days had ever passed so quickly in my life.

The mournful songs were the only sounds to be heard reverberating in the Hall; no one spoke, because there was nothing left to say. Even Bilbo had fallen silent after a while. Our minds were bent either on the task that the Fellowship would soon undertake or else were completely empty. My head was made up of an uncomfortable mix of the two, my thoughts flitting between resignation and heartbreak and then nothing at all.

So long were we in the Hall that the hours of that last day dwindled into the early morning, and the Elvish music was drawing everyone into dreams. Sam began snoring softly below us, and Pippin's head lolled limply against my arm. I shot a smile up to Frodo and whispered, "Don't you think you all should head to bed yet? Some are already halfway there."

"I'm not tired," said the Baggins, "but I do feel I need a breath of fresh air. Would you like to come with me?"

Carefully, I slipped my hand out of Pippin's and propped him up in the cushions I left vacant, and then made my way with Frodo out of the Hall of Fire. Gandalf gave us a tiny nod when we passed, and we were not followed.

I walked with Frodo out of Elrond's main house, down timeworn steps and over bridges that spanned the icy, stumbling Bruinen. It was cold, but I'd had enough sense to bring a jacket with me to the banquet, and if I asked I knew Frodo would lend me his as well. The tree boughs over our heads made a dim, dreary roof, hiding the starless sky beyond, and grasses hissed in the wind.

"It's going to be a gray day tomorrow," remarked Frodo, peering upward.

"Yes, it is," I agreed absently, and I didn't bother to ask if he referred to the weather or his mood.

"Did you know that we're taking along the pony we bought at Bree as our pack-horse?" the hobbit asked, forcing cheerfulness. "Sam can't be parted from it — he's already named it Bill."

_Bill the Pony_, I remembered, and I said aloud, "That seems fitting."

"Yes," said Frodo, "and Rivendell has treated him quite well. You would hardly recognize him as Ferny's tired old beast."

I chewed idly on a fingernail, trying to think of something else to talk about. We paused on a low footbridge in a clearing between two galleries, and Frodo leaned against its arcing banister, his boyish profile silhouetted against the dense trees. From the quiet Elvish dwellings nearby, a silvery, ethereal illumination reached us, reflecting off the many waterfalls and casting a misty sheen over our surroundings.

After staring at the hobbit for a moment, I joined him, muttering, "I'll miss Bill, but I really don't care much about him right now, you know."

Sullen and unmoving, Frodo did not answer me. He only glared down at nothing, and I turned away. There wasn't anything I could tell him to lessen his sorrow.

My hands curled around the carven railing over which I bent, and I shivered, feeling utterly empty, drained of energy and feeling. Verses of a song, learned by my heart long ago for a school play, came scattered to the front of my mind, the notes echoing eerily in my skull. _Go where glory waits thee_, bade a voice…

"_But while fame elates thee_," I whispered to myself, frowning slightly as the words came back to my memory, "_oh! Still remember me_." Frodo stirred and looked up, and I went on gently, taking no notice:

"_When, at eve, thou rovest_

_By the star thou lovest,_

_Oh! Then remember me._

_Think, when home returning_

_Bright we've seen it burning,_

_Oh! Thus remember me._"

It was hardly a song — more like a hushed, halfhearted recitation — but Frodo smiled at me. "Bilbo said you liked to sing," the hobbit commented.

I coughed embarrassedly and cleared my scratchy throat, shifting to face him. "I _like_ to, yes, but that doesn't mean I'm any good."

He shrugged and said, "You're going to be living with the Elves until we get back… have them teach you some of their songs."

"I think I'll pass," I said, rolling my eyes. "You know how terrible I am with Elvish, Frodo — do you want me to make a fool of myself?"

"There's time enough for you to learn from a proper teacher, now," he urged earnestly. "You should ask Elrond."

His eyes shone in the delicate light, and I weakened. "I won't be idle here, Frodo," I told him, "but I will try to ask him, if it'll make you feel better."

"It would," the hobbit said.

He offered me his arm, and he led me off the bridge and down a short flight of steps covered by a graceful archway, past balconies and silent halls. I'd had no idea where we were going until I saw that we were coming upon the familiar stairs that would take us to our quarters. The gardens were at our left, dim in the night, the smooth floor was swept clean of leaves, and the candles in the corridor had long before been put out. I suddenly wondered what it would be like after tomorrow, when I would be the only guest staying in that hall, and the rooms of my friends would be lonely and deserted.

Frodo had brought me before the door of my room. "In the morning I'll be with Bilbo," he informed me, shifting his weight from one bare foot to the other. "Elrond says — we aren't due to set out until tomorrow evening, under cover of darkness, so don't worry about taking a few more hours of sleep. You've been worrying too much, Jo."

"I don't need any more sleep than you do," I replied stubbornly as he moved away.

"Good night," the Baggins grinned, and a second later he had disappeared without a sound into his bedroom, leaving me very much alone.

I stared forlornly after him. "Good night, Frodo."

Pippin and Merry were the ones to wake me the next morning, plates of bread and fruit in their hands and apologetic looks on their faces. "You missed breakfast," Meriadoc told me ruefully, once I was conscious enough to lift my head. "Gandalf wouldn't allow anyone to come and get you."

Quite cross with Gandalf, mulling over what I would say to the wizard when I saw him, I hurriedly ate a little of what the hobbits had brought, feeling too nauseated to fill myself. They stayed with me and talked about anything that happened to cross their minds, so courteous that they refused to make me dine on my own — though in doing so they missed elevenses, the third meal in a hobbit's day. I had slept almost until noon.

"I don't know what he was thinking, letting me stay in," I grumbled around a mouthful of apple, angrily ripping a piece of bread apart. "He knows I wanted to be with you all."

Pippin smiled faintly. "He thinks you've gotten less rest than anyone in Rivendell, the way you've been running around and worrying yourself these last few days. 'No one is to go near the Lady's room,' he ordered us — you're lucky we managed to sneak in."

"You mean Gandalf doesn't know you came to get me?"

"Well, not exactly," admitted Merry, fidgeting.

I snorted and reached over to tweak their round noses, saying lovingly, "You two are the bravest of hobbits, my dear Meriadoc and Peregrin."

I dressed quickly in one of my gowns from Hobbiton and went in search of Frodo after finishing my meal. Bilbo's quarters were nearer to the main house and on a farther side of Rivendell, so I ran the whole way — over the tended paths into the neat little courtyards, taking shortcuts through lawns and tree-groves, coming in a few minutes to the small stairway that directed me up onto the covered terrace that belonged solely to Bilbo. There was a stout stone bench at the terrace's edge, where one could look out over much of the Homely House and its gardens, and behind it at an angle was the majestic, carven door to the old Baggins's room.

I glanced toward the gray, cloud-laden atmosphere and shivered in the frigid wind. Frodo had predicted the weather accurately enough — perhaps the heavens were mourning the Company's departure just as much as I. Chilled and out of breath, I hurried up to Bilbo's door and knocked.

"Coming, coming," I heard Bilbo call through the wood. A moment later, I caught a flash of crisp, snow-white hair at the doorframe, and before I knew it, the Baggins had snatched my hand and cried, pulling me happily into his room, "So Gandalf let you wake and join us at last!"

Pages of open books fluttered on the floor and on tabletops, and I stepped into the messy space just inside Bilbo's quarters. Frodo was standing beside Bilbo's bed, his linen shirt halfway unbuttoned, his curls disheveled. There was a small sword strapped to his waist, and I saw the shine of clean silver mail on his chest.

"Merry and Pip came to get me, without Gandalf's leave," I confided to the elder Baggins, at my elbow, "and I'm very glad they did. I might have slept right through tomorrow morning, too, if someone hadn't woken me up."

"It wasn't just Gandalf," said Frodo distractedly, his back turned, "because I wanted you to get some rest, too."

I sniffed indifferently at the youthful hobbit, and Bilbo patted my arm with a weathered hand. Frodo finished fastening up his shirt again as his elder informed me, "Well, my dear, you haven't missed much. The sword that Frodo was given at the Barrow-downs was broken, if you remember, after that little incident at the Fords, so I have him my old sword, Sting. Show it to her, Frodo!"

Obediently, Frodo drew the blade from its tattered leather sheath, and the sharp, polished edges glittered in the cruel dim sunlight. It was a gracefully wrought weapon, decorated with Elvish script, and it rang smoothly when Frodo brandished it in a slow circle before him.

"It's beautiful," I breathed, marveling at the fabled sword.

"Yes — made by the Elves," said Bilbo proudly, and he pointed at the curling figures engraved on the fierce edge.

"But there's this, as well," Frodo said, tugging at his mail shirt, which was partially covered by his tunic and vest.

"The Dwarf-mail given to me by Thorin Oakenshield," nodded Bilbo, and I beamed, remembering his adventures.

"It's _mithril_, isn't it?" I wondered.

"Yes, of course it is." The hobbit stepped back from his nephew and gave him a careful-once over. "Just a plain hobbit you look, Frodo," he said approvingly. "Now there's nothing left for me but to finish my book and get started on yours, once you get back."

Frodo stroked the smooth supple links at his collarbone, becoming very serious. "I can't thank you as I should, Bilbo, for all you've done."

"Listen to how he carries on, Jo!" Bilbo nudged me with a few fingers, speaking in a loud whisper. He waved Frodo's words away. "My dear Frodo, you mustn't try to thank me for anything."

He bent down, effectively closing the subject and having the last say, and he picked up with a groan several bound manuscripts, humming a preoccupied tune. Frodo shook his head and smiled at me; he'd always said that Bilbo could rarely deal with anything remotely serious. The old Baggins began to sing softly to himself, bustling about the room while Frodo and I watched.

"_But all the while I sit and think_

_of times there were before,_

_I listen for returning feet_

_and voices at the door._"

I could not stop a shudder from overtaking my shoulders, and I wished it was not so cold outside.

Frodo, Bilbo, and I met Gandalf on the way to midday meal in the main house, and I sent such a swift and ferocious look up to the wizard that he laughed warmly and gave me a slight bow, his eyes sparkling from beneath the brim of his pointed hat.

Opening the splendidly engraved doors of the banquet hall for us, Elrond's son Elladan was walking just ahead of Gandalf. "The wrath of the Lady Jorryn is fierce," he quipped amusedly, peering over his shoulder at me.

"Indeed," said Gandalf, chuckling. "That may very well be the last time I try to tell a Lady to rest herself."

I ate little but remained in the hall with my friends for many hours, and the afternoon slipped away through my fingers to vanish in the laughter of the hobbits and the booming voices of Gandalf and Aragorn and Boromir. There were many Elves about us, quiet and stoic, speaking inaudibly among themselves in their own language and smiling gently on the mortals among them, and they gave us whatever we wanted. Elrond, Arwen, and Elrohir joined us late in the day, and we were all moved into the Hall of Fire.

Arwen rested with Frodo and me in the flickering shadows, the wavering light dancing on her flawless face and in the locks of her midnight-black hair. She almost seemed more distant than usual, and desolation flashed in the tumultuous gray of her gaze. Aragorn was standing over us, at Arwen's shoulder, clad in Elven-mail and dark shimmering robes, and his noble profile so stark against the marble walls was a comfort to me in the darkness.

"I have a gift for you, Jorryn," Arwen told me between songs. "We must hurry — most of the Company's farewells will be said here, but we shall see them off in the courtyard."

Curious, I rose and we withdrew without a sound, walking to a part of Elrond's House I had never seen, where silken tapestries hung on the walls, depicting maidens in a silver wood and ancient warriors on great horses, and gossamer cloth adorned the ornate windows. This lovely place could only have been Arwen's room. A divan, surrounded by high-backed chairs, was arranged with many pillows near the open arches of the windows, and across it was laid a gown. Arwen lifted it carefully from the cushions and presented it to me.

It was of light yellow lace, fitted by a horizontal wrap of fabric from the chest to the hip, with a low bodice that ended in a beaded gold belt, its center pointing downward. The sleeves trailed the floor, bound just above the elbow by tight bands, and they slitted open at the forearm. There was a single silver clasp at the neck.

I gasped and reached out to touch the flowing skirt. "You can't mean to give this to me!"

"It is yours," Arwen smiled, placing the dress into my outstretched arms. "But there is little for the Fellowship to do before departing, _sell_, so dress quickly!"

I accepted her gift gratefully and hastily changed into it, letting my hair loose though it frizzed like mad in the unpleasant humidity. Outside, dismal evening shadows fell upon Rivendell, and mist hung about the craggy mountaintops. The dark overcast sky pressed down on us with low and murky clouds, stifling my spirits and my heart; they were a veil over the entirety of Middle-earth, and they poisoned what little sunlight was left to the day, allowing only a sourly tinted ghost to reach us. But lights in the Homely House were lit, holding the twilight at bay for the present, giving a little cheer to the drab atmosphere.

Arwen returned in a purple dress embroidered with curling silver vines, her middle encircled by a wide violet sash, an intricately twisted circlet on her brow. I stood for a moment feeling very awkward — for she was beautiful, and I was nothing more than a girl playing dress-up. She put a fair, slender hand to my head and a velvet cape about my shoulders, saying, "It is time."

As we made our way to the courtyard of Rivendell through the bitter dusk, over the roofed walkways from Arwen's quarters, a horn sounded from somewhere near, echoing in a great blast through the valley, charging my spine with electricity. I almost felt that I should take off running toward the noise.

Arwen explained, her low voice breaking slightly, "The horn of Gondor signals the Company's readiness."

I was guided to a shortcut through Lord Elrond's darkened libraries, going by the dusty bookcases noiselessly. We passed into the wide dining room at the front of the house, and I was surprised to see movement in the gloom. Arwen slowed when she realized that her father was still here, talking in low tones with Gandalf. Their heads were bowed close together over a mahogany table. Gandalf was again dressed in his tattered gray robes, his gnarled fingers gripping his tall staff, and the sword, Glamdring, was at his side.

Hearing us approach, the two straightened and faced us, shadow obscuring much of their faces, and a knot rose in my throat. We came beside them. Elrond nodded solemnly to his daughter, murmuring, "_Si boe ú-dhannathach_, _sell nîn_. They are waiting for us outside."

Arwen bowed and moved away from me, disappearing through a nearby door, but I did not follow. I looked up at Gandalf, unable to think of anything but the days he had spent in the Shire laughing with us and smoking with the hobbits on Bag End's front stoop, his wavy hair blowing about under his hat in the breeze, his fantastic fireworks lighting the night sky over the Party fields. I ached to have those days back again more than anything.

Weakly, I sniffed, fighting my despair, and Gandalf smiled, going to his knees before me. It was the first time I could ever remember him bothering to do so for me — mostly he had been content to look down from his lofty height, but now he put his hands on my arms and was directly at my level.

"Darkness may fall over all of Middle-earth, and the Enemy may take all that is dear to you… but you must never lose heart, Jorryn," he said, the rich, gruff rumble of his words an almost tangible warmth amidst all my sorrow. "He does not yet hold sway over all that is good in this world."

"Gandalf," I forced out miserably, "I can't — can't thank you enough for everything that you've done — I should have told you sooner, but — "

His smile spread to his sharp gaze, crinkling the already creased skin around his eyes and kindling a tender and knowing look that made me want to cling to his old form forever. "Now, Jo," the wizard said softly, "surely you, of all people, would know that we will meet each other again. You may thank me all you want then."

In spite of myself, I grinned and nodded, "Yes."

Gandalf mirrored my nod and drew me into his arms, and I felt the coarseness of his beard against my bare neck and the weight of his cloak as it fell across my back. Although thankful for his embrace, I trembled, wondering how on earth I would be able to stand saying goodbye to the others, too.

When we pulled apart, Elrond, towering over us, folded his hands at his waist and announced, "The Fellowship awaits."

Clusters of Elves stood in the shady courtyard, gray in the evening mist, and the hobbits were lingering on the front steps. Gandalf, Elrond, and I came out of the main house with firelight spilling out at our backs and candles gleaming in countless windows, illuminating the assembled figures. Bilbo was shivering in a thick blanket alongside Frodo, who was clothed in his familiar traveling breeches and jacket, and Aragorn was sitting huddled a stair below them in the dirty garments of a Ranger that I recalled well. Arwen was farther away with her brothers, her dark head bowed. I saw Bill the Pony grazing in the long brown grass by the archway leading out of Rivendell, and beyond him, the river roared frigidly.

"A-about time," quivered Bilbo, hunched under his mantle.

Their noses and pointed eartips red and raw from the cold, the hobbits turned to me, their faces catching the cheery firelight. Heavy packs were slung over their shoulders, and they were girt with their swords from the barrow. Smiling, Frodo caught at my hand.

At that moment, an unbelievable wave of misery crashed over me, making me sway unsteadily. I fought back the sudden urge to weep. _I can't do this_, I thought wildly, focusing hard on a ragged cloud moving just above the roofs of Rivendell.

Pippin noticed the twisting of my countenance and stepped closer, tugging playfully on one of my curls. "It's all right, Jo," he said, his voice lilting impishly, and he gave a tiny shrug. "We saw so much when we were with you — how much more could there be in the places past the Mountains?"

I choked on a stifled sob and bent down to hug him, kissing his cold forehead. "Yes, Pippin," was all I offered in reply, even if I knew it wasn't true.

"You'll be all right," the Took murmured, smiling up at me.

"And you, too," I permitted myself to say. "You and Merry stay out of trouble, Peregrin."

Merry prodded me from behind, his other hand hidden in his coat-pocket. "When have we ever done otherwise?" he joked.

I went to him, burying my face into his strawberry-blonde hair. "You're impossible, Merry Brandybuck," I said unconvincingly.

"We'll see each other again, Jo," he said into my ear, sounding strained.

"Of course," I garbled back brokenly. I swiped at my nose with my free palm and cursed myself for acting so silly. I couldn't be making it any easier for my friends with such a display.

"Miss Jo — "

I twisted about, and Sam squirmed embarrassedly next to Frodo, his honest round face obviously flushed even in the frail shadows. He wrenched uneasily at the cumbersome bag he carried, and his brown eyes flashed. "I just wanted to say — that I won't forget you, Miss Jo, no matter how long we're away — and — and that you're a fine Lady — and I don't expect to meet any better."

I smiled affectionately through my tears, and, to Sam's alarm, kissed him squarely on the cheek. "Take care of yourself, Sam," I said, but he had turned so pink that he could not answer me coherently, and he trundled off to catch Bill.

At last I met Frodo's gaze again, and I drew a shaky breath. His face was white, smooth, and fairly unreadable now, his stance set and his mouth a taut line, but in his wide stare there was a tempest of conflicting emotions. He wrapped his fingers about the hilt of Sting. I swallowed against my constricted throat.

"There _is_ reason to hope," the hobbit wondered uncertainly, "isn't there, Jo?"

My heart was torn brutally in two, and I had to look away from the Baggins for a second. I sniveled, trying to think of something dignified to say, but the only reply I could muster was a faint, "There is always hope, Frodo."

Frodo's lips tipped. He reached upward to cup my cheeks and pull me down to him until our brows touched, and I could hardly bear to meet his gaze. "_Gerich veleth nín_," he told me in Elvish, the words coming easily from him.

"Frodo," I whimpered helplessly, and I shook my head against his, "I don't know what that _means_."

" 'You have my love,' " he translated gently, and he suddenly stood on his tiptoes, lifting his mouth to mine and kissing me delicately. I didn't bother to worry about those around me watching us; I only knew the sweet touch of Frodo's lips and the tickle of his tangled curls on my closed eyelids, and then the burning sharpness of his stare when we were parted a moment later.

"Goodbye," he whispered, and the next thing I remembered was the sight of Frodo walking down the steps toward the rest of the Fellowship. Every detail of his retreating back stood out sharply in my mind. He was leaning into the wind, his cape sweeping about his bare ankles, and his pack shifted to and fro on his shoulders. When would I be able to kiss him again? My body grew inexplicably numb, and I could not return his goodbye.

Gimli, Legolas, and Boromir came below us and bowed to Lord Elrond, who was suddenly at my side, his great form a much-needed support. The three said their brief goodbyes to me by placing a hand over their hearts and nodding slightly. Boromir, the last to move away, gave me a smile and called, "We may meet again, Lady Jorryn — perhaps in the city of my fathers! Farewell!"

Aragorn, as if waking from a dream, finally lifted himself from the stairs and pivoted around to Elrond grimly. Elrond only nodded, but I stiffened and tried to regain my senses. Strider was as solemn as I had ever seen him, his hair messy about his strong countenance and his clothes still soiled and tattered. I expected him to whirl away to join the Company, but he strode up and fell to a knee in front of me.

"Farewell, Jorryn," he said, covering my clasped hands with his own callused fingertips. "Never will it be said that the Lady of the Shire was not worthy of much admiration and praise."

I blinked, not expecting such elegant words, and stuttered gracelessly, "Thank you, Aragorn — I don't — you've been — "

He glanced over at Elrond and bent a fraction closer to me, his weaponry rustling against leather and linen. "Until we meet again," the man said, and he stood.

Lord Elrond inhaled deeply and sighed after my friend, dropping his hands from where they had been hidden in his billowing sleeves. The Elf gave me a small push between my shoulder blades, and he spoke over me vaguely, almost like a prayer, "_Garo bellas, Mistadiel_."

Taking the pressure of his palm on my back as an undeclared order to go down the steps ahead of him, I walked down and nearly tripped several times on my dress. Somehow I ended up next to Arwen, Elrohir, Elladan, and several other Elves standing in the short turf just under the trees flanking Rivendell's entryway, while Elrond advanced and met the gathered Fellowship.

"This is my last word," he said. "The Ring-bearer is setting out on the Quest of Mount Doom. The others go with him as free companions, to help him on his way."

I had not thought of the Ring for many days, and the very mention of it clawed at me. I bit my lip, seeing the hobbits bunched together around Bill, all of them so very small in comparison to the Men.

Elrond continued, "You may turn aside into other paths, as fate dictates. The further you go, the less easy will it be to withdraw — but withdraw you may, if you find the task too great. Go now with good hearts! Farewell, and may the blessing of Elves and Men and all Free Folk go with you."

Arwen was silent and motionless at my left. I wiped my damp cheeks with the back of my hands, embarrassed, hoping I didn't appear as ugly and stupid as I felt. How on earth was she dealing with such grief so easily, when I was having trouble keeping on my feet?

"Good l-luck!" shouted Bilbo from behind us. "I expect a full report when you g-get back, Frodo. And don't be too long!"

Under the archway at the edge of Rivendell, Gandalf nodded and cleared his throat. "Lead on, Frodo," he bade.

Sam fiddled with the pony's bridle, and Pippin and Merry shifted. Frodo looked to me once, his eyes a vivid spark of blue in a determined face, and then he turned around to take his place in front of Gandalf. The hobbits followed, and Gimli, Legolas, and Boromir dropped in after. But Aragorn paused, his gaze going to Arwen, and a tiny smile danced fleetingly on the surface of his expression before he bowed and slipped under the archway. To my great astonishment, Arwen dipped her head and wept silently.

I did not move until the Company had been reduced from dark shadows to indiscernible misty phantoms, and finally nothingness. They had faded away into the dusk — they were gone. I was alone.

I went numbly back up the steps into Elrond's House, utterly empty and spent. I was only partially aware of Bilbo saying to me as I passed, "Well, my dear Lady, I suppose it's just you and I, now."

That night, it stormed on Imladris… and the sound of my tears mingled with the steady pattering of raindrops until sleep claimed me and I could cry no more.


	30. Left Behind

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own any of Tolkien's characters or the world he created. The only character of mine (Jorryn) has decided to take a holiday in Tolkien's Middle-earth. No copyright infringement on any of J. R. R. Tolkien's works is intended.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** A huge "thank you" to all who reviewed that last chapter! It made my entire month. :) And now... the Fellowship has gone and Jorryn is left to herself in Imladris. Of course, she is miserable. Read on to find out what happens next...

**29**

It was not without a slight sense of joy that I suddenly realized I had many friends in Rivendell. After the Fellowship had gone, the Elves were exceedingly kind, even more than before, always stopping to speak with me the few times I ventured out of my room, giving me anything I requested, indulging me and comforting me when Bilbo could not.

Those first few days after the Company's departure, I could not force myself to do much more than get out of bed and travel to a chair nearby. Not once in all my time in Middle-earth had I been left to myself without the knowledge that in a few minutes, Frodo would come get me for breakfast, or that Sam would ask if I wanted to help him in the Gaffer's garden, and I was stricken with such grief that I had no wish to show myself to Elrond or Arwen. I had not the heart even to ask someone to teach me a few simple Elvish songs, which Frodo had wanted so earnestly for me. I was not often called upon — my only visitors were Bilbo, wobbling upon a cane, and Nátucien, who brought me my meals and drew my baths, and she rarely spoke unless I asked her what was going on in other parts of Rivendell.

Elrond had offered more than once to give me quarters closer to Arwen's and his own, but I politely refused. On the numerous nights that I could not sleep, I liked to sneak into the empty rooms of my friends simply to be in a place they had once occupied. I hardly slept, anyhow, because the old nightmare of a broken and dying Frodo and the deathly Ringwraiths, the one I'd had during my first days in Rivendell, was coming to me more often. And every time I awoke with my heart pounding fearfully in my chest and my coverlets in a mess around my legs, I was sharply reminded that there was no one to go to for relief. I was completely and unbearably alone in the darkness and the cold.

It was perhaps unfair of me to forget Bilbo, but no matter how much I adored him, I could no longer overlook the fact that he was becoming terribly old and withered. The Ring had eaten away at him all those long years it had been in his possession, never showing any outward signs of its evil, but now the time that it had stolen away was returning in full force to the Baggins, and it broke my heart to see him so frail. The skin on his freckled hands was as soft and fragile as tissue paper, and over his stooped shoulders he began hanging a light mantle to ward off the chill. He was my last connection to the Shire and the life we'd left behind, yet he was fading, along with everything else I'd loved.

I was miserable, but I hated myself for it — I knew it was ungrateful of me to mope about in my room, ignoring the world outside, especially when Elrond and his house were being so generous and forgiving of me. Though I knew, I did it anyway… dreaming of doing something more than letting the days drag on and on, wanting to do more for my friends than awaiting the day they would return. I was wasting away in Rivendell, when I wished to be doing something, _anything_, to help the Company or the cause for which all the Free Peoples of Middle-earth were fighting.

I soon grew restless and left behind the confines of my room for the more welcoming gardens adjacent to my private hallway, going out late in the day when I was least likely to meet anyone. Winter was on Imladris, stealing all but a few of the vibrant leaves from the fair silver trees, and a cold wind hissed down the mountains through the pines. The long turf and heather both still flourished, but above me the bare branches rattled forlornly, and the air smelled sharp and rusty, still thick with autumn. The fire of the setting sun poured into the Homely House and set flame to my surroundings. Since it was time for supper and the nightly gathering in the Hall of Fire, I thought I was completely alone, but I chanced to come upon Elrond's sons in the middle of the garden.

I meandered around a bend in the path and saw them seated under a statue of a flute-playing Elf, their long legs stretched out before them and their dark hair flowing long and free over blue and green tunics. One worked idly with a quiver of arrows standing up between his knees, while the other read from a manuscript across his lap. I opened my mouth to call to them, but their words floated to me over the sounds of the waterfalls and rustling grasses, and I was silenced.

"… cannot deny that you have seen the suffering of both our sister and the Lady, Elladan. They've not been well since the Company left us, and it has nearly been a fortnight."

I froze at this, and Elladan sighed loudly, leafing through his book. I could not believe that I had stumbled across such a conversation. "Nay," Elladan said, "I cannot deny it, but what is there to be done? Arwen and Mistadiel knew long before the Fellowship's leave-taking that they would be parted from those they love."

Elrohir, studying the course feathers on one of his arrows, arched an eyebrow in a manner much like Elrond's. "Yes, but does it not torment you to see them so? Arwen knows not when she will see Aragorn again, if ever, and so she grieves. But for the Lady, also, my heart is pained; she is only a child, and everything familiar has been taken from her more than once." Peering into the shadows before him, the Elf bent over his quiver, and his brother glanced down at him. They were two unsmiling figures in the golden evening. I took a slow step back into the protective shadows under a large shrub, praying that the twins would not notice me, and Elrohir continued, "They both wither, Elladan. Their fond ones have been flung into death and war. What is left for them if all is in vain?"

Elladan stared for a moment at the pages in his hands, but then his storm-gray eyes caught a flash of sunlight as he looked back to his twin, and he said, "Nothing is ever in vain, _muindor_ _nín_. Mistadiel has faith in the Ring-bearer and his Company — that should be proof enough of the Fellowship's worth."

Suddenly feeling unbearably cold and unwilling to hear any more, I slipped away under the brush and carefully made my way to the paths back up to my rooms, returning silently to my wretched sanctuary.

* * *

It was a little over a week later when Arwen found me on my balcony as I read despondently through my tattered journal in a patch of warm sun. So immersed was I in my own writings of the Shire, which all seemed somewhat foreign and strange to me at that moment, so cheerful and flippant, that I was not aware of her presence until I heard my Elvish name being softly spoken at my back: "Mistadiel."

Recognizing her voice, I twisted around on the step where I had perched and closed my journal. She stood in one of the archways leading into my room, her slender figure draped with deep crimson and black silk. I had not seen her since the eve of the Fellowship's departure, and she came to me much changed — heartbroken, tired, her gray eyes filled with sorrow and tears — but she still remained more beautiful and graceful than any other being I'd met in Middle-earth. The blatant grief in her expression sent poisonous fear racing into my heart.

"What is it — what's happened?" I asked her worriedly, pushing myself up.

Arwen bowed her head, and black tendrils of her wavy hair blew across her face, hiding it from my view. "My father wishes to see you, Jorryn," she said simply. "Will you come?"

"Yes, of course," I answered uncertainly, her evasive behavior turning my innards to ice. But I did not press the matter, and she offered me no more explanation, taking me down the backwards paths out of my quarters to a wing of the main house at the opposite side of Rivendell. I was frightened and followed wordlessly, a thousand horrible possibilities dancing tauntingly within my mind. I could not figure how far the Fellowship could have gotten in the time that was already gone, for I had lost track of the days — I knew that December has passed, and it was January, but the exact date escaped me.

There was a small porch off Elrond's main house, at the very edge of a sharp precipice that dropped down into the icy river flowing through Imladris; and across this sudden chasm, waterfalls tumbled from a slightly higher level of Rivendell to join the main conduit. I looked across the steep drop and saw another distant cluster of Elvish dwellings through the mists rising from below, farther east and closer to the feet of the Misty Mountains. And to our left, on the circular, covered porch, Elrond sat staring down at us.

Arwen led me up a short flight of steps and around to where her father waited in the raised gallery. Vines curled around the pillars supporting the porch's vaulted roof, and on a small table in front of Elrond many books and maps were scattered. We did not take the last few steps that would bring us under the roof with him, but instead waited below, and my heart began to pound. Bruinen was roaring in my ears, and fear grew in me so that I could hardly bear it.

"My lord?" I dared to ask.

"Jorryn," he answered, and I was pierced by the Elf-lord's gaze. "I have received word that Gandalf has fallen into the shadows of Moria," he told me quietly, "and all that remain of the Fellowship have reached the Golden Wood, Lothlórien, where the Lord Celeborn and the Lady Galadriel have received them."

My breath left my lungs, and a surge of great relief went through me. Everything was all right, then! I remembered from Tolkien's books that the Fellowship had been driven into the mines of Moria, under the Misty Mountains, by the dangers of all other paths, and there they had been tormented by oppressive darkness, countless Orcs, and a Balrog, a demon of the ancient world. Gandalf had cast the monster into the gloom under the Bridge of Khazad-dûm, but, as it had tumbled and lashed into the abyss, the Balrog had taken Gandalf down with it.

I clutched at my racing heart, my limbs going numb, anxiety leaving me more quickly that it had come, and I almost laughed with joy. But I caught myself, and, feeling like I should explain my obvious lack of anguish for the loss of Gandalf, shifted my weight from one bare foot to the other. I lifted my chin to better see the Elf-lord.

"My lord," I said awkwardly, "Gandalf may have fallen, but he is not lost."

A small smile tugged at Elrond's thin lips, and he beckoned to me, offering a seat across from him. I quickly mounted the stairs and settled down, Arwen following behind, placing herself on a pillowed stool a short distance from us. Lord Elrond bent his stare on me, and he said solemnly, "I guessed that much. The task that Mithrandír was sent to do in this world is hardly completed."

I nodded, swallowing hard against my tight throat. _Everything is all right_, I thought again, inexplicably heartened by this unexpected news. The Fellowship had survived Moria and was safely within the borders of Lórien, and I knew that with Galadriel they would find the rest and comfort needed for the last leg of their journey together.

Elrond's long hands were playing across the crinkled maps spread out on the table, and I glimpsed the distance separating Rivendell from the other side of the Mountains. I frowned curiously. "What day is it, sire?"

"The fifteenth day of the new year, by the reckoning of the Shire," he answered, his fingers tracing the path of the Company for me.

So it had been about three weeks since the Fellowship had left Imladris, I figured. "They've gone far in such a short time," I murmured heavily, mostly to myself.

"Yes, they've journeyed many dangerous and oft-untrodden leagues," said Elrond, his eyes coming up briefly to meet mine, "but they have a long way to go yet."

"How long will it be until they arrive in Mordor?"

"Weeks, I am certain," the Elf replied, sighing. "They have need of rest and counsel now, more than anything, and in Lothlórien they shall get it. And there are still the innumerable wastelands surrounding Mordor which they have not even begun to reach — they must pass through empty hills and dead marshlands before they can think of drawing near the Mountains of Shadow."

I left Elrond's porch feeling only a little better than before. Dried leaves crunched under the soles of my feet, and the atmosphere hinted of rain. _Perfect_, I thought sarcastically, _a good thunderstorm would fit my mood just fine_. I stopped in the middle of the path and leaned back, staring up at the dreary sky through the naked tree boughs, calming my irritated nerves. At that moment, I wanted more than anything to get away from the Elvish splendor around me and find a comfort more familiar. I went to visit Bilbo in his quarters.

"Well, my dear Jo, how good it is to see you again at last!" the old hobbit cried when he saw me around his opened door. "Come in, come in — I hope you'll forgive me for the mess — I've only just gotten around to sorting out all these notes, you see — carefully, now!"

His room was a complete disaster, an Elvish version of my beloved Bag End. Rolls of parchment were bundled together and leaning in corners of his space, books and atlases were piled on the floor, and untidy stacks of bound notes covered his small writing desk. I glumly perused a few of the hobbit's notes and treatises, and on one piece of paper, I recognized Frodo's thin handwriting slanting in the margins surrounding Bilbo's timeline of our journey.

Something in my stomach wrenched. Quickly, I turned away from the desk and wondered of the Baggins, "What else are you up to?"

"I've just been tidying up… and I am not doing a very good job of it, as you can probably see," he said, hobbling around the documents on the floor. He smoothed his thick white hair away from his wrinkled brow, smiling at me happily. "You wouldn't mind helping me, would you, Milady? That heap just beside you goes in the cupboard across the room."

I obediently gathered up the papers labeled in Bilbo's curling hand "Observations Regarding the Language of the Elves" and picked a way through the chaos to the short cabinet near Bilbo's bed. As I shoved the pile onto a shelf, I realized that this was exactly what I needed — a job, something to occupy my copious free time, a task that could draw my mind away from thoughts of the Fellowship.

Bilbo came to me and handed down a book of loose sketches, watching me set it on top of the papers I had arranged. There was a moment filled only with his low, steady breathing and the shuffling of pages, but then the hobbit asked suddenly, "How are you, my dear?"

I looked up in surprise, biting my lip to stifle any false incredulity. I must have looked exceedingly terrible to have Bilbo notice that I was unwell; he was usually completely ignorant of these things. If he could so easily tell something was wrong, I knew there was no use in trying to fool him into thinking otherwise, so I said frankly, pulling myself up, "Actually… I'm not doing very well, Bilbo."

The Baggins laughed and reached up to gently pat my cheek. "The world hasn't ended yet, has it, my dear Lady? You haven't lost hope in our Ring-bearer, have you?"

"No, certainly not," I said, wincing. I rubbed at my left shoulder, struggling with my muddy, conflicting emotions, unsure of what I wanted to really say. "I'm just… unhappy here, that's all."

"You, unhappy in Rivendell among Lord Elrond and the Elves?" snorted Bilbo in disbelief. He bent and hoisted several heavy books, teetering, and headed for a bookshelf in an opposite corner. "I'm beginning to wonder if there's not something wrong with you, Jo."

"There's nothing wrong with me!" I said heatedly. Unsettled, I cast about my mind for appropriate words to express myself, and I fidgeted while Bilbo busied himself at his bookshelf. I took a deep breath and explained hesitantly, "I love Rivendell and the Elves, Bilbo, but, in spite of everything, I miss Frodo and Sam and Merry and Pippin — not to mention the Shire."

"Well, that's to be expected," the Baggins replied, distracted.

"But it's not only that, Bilbo — there are things _happening_ in the world, and — "

He shuffled around and waited for me to continue, the last book between his hands, halfway to its place on the shelf. I ducked my head and frowned intently at the shining veneer on the surface of Bilbo's cabinet, finishing feebly, "And I hate not having a part in anything that's going on right now."

"Oh, but Jo," Bilbo chuckled, sliding the final book between its mates, "you've had a very large part in this tale, as anyone could tell you, and I've had _my_ part. You should know that stories — especially this particular one of the Ring and its master — are always getting bigger and bigger over the ages, and you can never stop them. More worthy characters were left behind and forgotten long before _I_ ever came upon the whole thing. You and I — we've played out our bits, and now it's time for new heroes to come in."

I stood unmoving across the room from him, blinking slowly and uncertainly. My throat was very dry, and my heart was beating with weary, painful throbs within my chest. I croaked numbly, "But… I don't want this to be the end."

"And it isn't, of course," he said, waving his hand. "For good or ill, we all still have a long time to wait until the end of all things."

I felt drained, vacant, and I didn't want to talk anymore. I had come to the Baggins for cheer and reassurance and had only found more despair, but the fact hardly surprised me. I was finding it more often in everything these days. "I think I'll go lie down for a little while, Bilbo," I told him, letting myself out. "If you need more help, send for me."

"Oh, one moment! Hand me those manuscripts, if you will."

And thus the days passed, no quicker than the previous weeks, but with a gradual lessening of my grief. I was determined to make myself useful to anyone who would have me, and soon Bilbo's notes were all in order and organized by topic, simply because I wouldn't allow him to put it off. It was a mostly futile effort — we both knew he would have the papers out before long to make a mess of them again; I ordered him to get started on the Fellowship's story right away.

Late in January, Elrond came to me and informed me that there was a neglected young mare in his stables that needed a companion, and that I was welcome to her if I wished. "You once expressed an interest in riding," the Elf reminded me, "and Bronwe would suit you well, I think." I thanked him and said that I would investigate the next day.

Rivendell's stables were the far-off structures across the Loudwater that I had seen from Elrond's porch, a good distance from my rooms and a long walk in the frosty weather. I found Bronwe housed with several other ponies in an upper level of the elegant compound. She must have heard me approaching, for she put her fair head out over her door to watch me with dark, perceptive eyes. She was lean, glossy, and golden in color.

"Hello, Bronwe," I greeted softly, reaching out to her. She allowed me to stroke her brow and brush locks of her mane from her vision. "Do you want to go out for a bit?"

I knew enough about horsemanship to be able to go out alone whenever I felt inclined, riding up the mountainsides through the whistling pines and as far east as Elrond's borders reached in the valley. I explored with my new friend the quiet meadows and groves and sat long with her at the banks of the Loudwater or in the clearings we found in the woods. Sometimes I would hear the faint echoes of Elves singing, remotely and mournfully in hidden places of the woods, though I seldom met anyone on the trails winding about the lonely foothills. I wore my sword at my hip during all these outings, practicing when I could, like I'd promised Aragorn, and also since I had been advised to do so by Elrond.

The rest of January went by in a dizzy blur, and February came on. The weather improved, never getting much colder than it had been on the day the Fellowship had left us, and I was able to walk around Rivendell barefoot and with only a lightweight cloak most of the time. Always when I inquired after the Fellowship I was told that they were still in Lórien, resting their bodies and minds and recovering even then from the shock of Gandalf's passing. They were without his leadership and his wisdom, and I knew it must have been a dreadful loss to bear, especially for Frodo and Aragorn, who had been closest with the wizard. I thought of my friends constantly, a thousand times during every tiresome day that went by, and my burning itch to be _out _of Rivendell — and back into a place where I could be of more help and nearer to the Company — grew stronger. I missed my hobbits so much, and their absence was gnawing away a hole in my heart that could only be filled by Pippin's laughter or the mischievous sparkle of Merry's eyes.

Elrond didn't receive any word of the Fellowship until the sixteenth day of February, when news came of their departure from Lothlórien. Aragorn was leading them in boats down the river Anduin toward Sarn Gebir and the falls of Rauros, near the Emyn Muil hills. The Elf-lord showed me on one of his maps where they would eventually end up and have to leave the river for whatever path they chose, above Rauros — to the east were the Emyn Muil, and on the west lay Amon Hen and Rohan.

As Lord Elrond explained to me that Aragorn would probably make for Gondor and Minas Tirith at the easternmost end of the White Mountains, I thought heartbrokenly of Boromir. I knew that once the Fellowship reached Amon Hen, they would be attacked by a band of Orcs and the valiant Boromir would be slain. I would never see him again as I had hoped, and that tore at me horribly. I hated to have such chances slip away so easily from me. If only I weren't trapped in Rivendell…

One morning soon after this news came to Elrond, Nátucien informed me over my breakfast that Elladan and Elrohir had left Rivendell the evening before, riding toward the far North on a mission of great importance. "They bade me to send their farewells," my companion told me.

"I didn't know they were going anywhere — why didn't someone tell me?" I cried in dismay, since I had looked forward to spending more time with the twin Elves. "When are they expected to return?"

"They have gone to continue their labors in the distant and dark places of this world," she said. "Yestereve, Lord Elrond received a message from the Lady of the Golden Wood, and his sons rode out with all speed. But take heart, for you shall see them again."

"What was the message about?" I pressed fearfully. "Has something gone wrong?"

Nátucien smiled and, turning, laid out a cream-colored Elvish gown across my bed for me to wear, and she said, "These questions are not for me to answer, Mistadiel. The daughter of Elrond may be more capable of them; it would do you well to see her, and she does miss you. She often requests your company."

I ducked my head, the uncomfortable tickle of guilt playing through my stomach. In my own misery, I had abandoned Arwen, and too late I realized how horrible I had been acting when we could have taken much comfort in each other — we both suffered in the same ways, I knew. "I'll visit her today, if it's all right," I said to Nátucien, and the Elf-maid bent to kiss my brow before leaving.

"She will be glad to hear of your coming, _sell_."

I finished eating, dressed, and went without delay to Arwen's quarters in the main house of Rivendell. The only way I knew took me directly through the libraries, where I had spent so many afternoons studying with Merry and the other hobbits, but I could not bear to linger there for long. I sent a fleeting glance toward the dusty bookshelves, Merry's triumphant shout echoing in my head, "_No_, Peregrin, you dunce, that's the Chetwood, just north of Bree…"

I hurried up the wide stairs to the dwelling's second-floor chambers and reached the empty corridor that contained the rooms of Elrond, Arwen, and many other prominent Elves, and I knocked uncertainly on the door which I believed belonged to Elrond's daughter.

"_Minno_," came the gentle, sweet sound of her voice faintly through the carven wood, and I quietly pushed in the door to make a space only large enough for my head to pass through. I peered around and found that there was no one in the entryway immediately within her quarters, and I slipped inside. The small hall opened to the left onto a private study, and then onto a large, covered gallery and garden that offered a view of the rooftops of Rivendell and the waterfalls close by. Beyond this wide space was another arcing doorway that led into Arwen's bedroom.

In her room, I discovered the Elf sitting erect on her divan near the curtained windows, her back to me as she stared out into the young morning braiding a section of her dark hair. "Good morning," I greeted her timidly, and she shifted around.

"Mistadiel!" she welcomed happily, rising and taking my hands in hers. Her light lavender gown floated about her white shoulders as if lifted by some unfelt breeze, and her hair was thick and shone about her faultless face. "How good it is to see you again!"

"I'm sorry I haven't come to see you," I apologized awkwardly, giving her no excuse, because I had none.

She shook her head, saying, "There is no need for an apology."

I nodded gratefully and took a quick look about the room, breathing deeply. The smells of fresh pine and flowers were on the air, and a wind was stirring the wispy drapery over the windows. _Might as well get right to the point_, I thought, too impatient to be polite, and I focused back on Arwen. "Nátucien told me this morning that your brothers left yesterday, but she couldn't say why, exactly. Nothing's happened to make them worry, has it?"

I caught a flash of amusement in Arwen's eyes as she turned back to her resting place on the divan. Settling down next to her, I waited expectantly for her to answer. "Nay," she said, "my brothers have ridden into the North at the bidding of those who reside in Lothlórien. Counsels have been given and taken there by the wise, and the Lady of the Golden Wood sent word to my father and to Lord Aragorn, saying:

_Where now are the Dúnedain, Elessar, Elessar? _

_ Why do thy kinsfolk wander afar? _

_ Near is the hour when the lost should come forth, _

_ And the Grey Company ride from the North. _

_ But dark is the path appointed for thee: _

_ The Dead watch the road that leads to the Sea._"

Arwen stared across the room to something on a table against the adjacent wall. "And so Elladan and Elrohir have been sent after the Dúnedain, the Men of the West. My father feels that the heir of Isildur will have need of them soon."

_The Dead watch the road that leads to the Sea._ I shuddered as the ominous line reverberated within my skull. I recalled enough about the Paths of the Dead and the cursed dwellers of the haunted road to know that it was not a way Aragorn would be eager to take. "Ah," I replied ineffectively, not sure what else I could say.

Arwen's lips tipped into a brief, sad smile, and again her eyes went to an unknown object on her table. "I have heard from many in Rivendell that you have taken to riding in the hills during the day," she declared, abruptly steering the conversation in a different direction.

"Yes," I nodded, "your father gave me a mare to ride."

"It is good to learn that you have not thought your time here a valueless waste."

"Oh, no — I couldn't think that at all. I haven't been feeling well these past few weeks, that's all. You're welcome to ride with me, if you wish."

Arwen's eyes danced brightly, and she declined with a slight dip of her head, "It is kind of you to offer, Mistadiel, but I have not been idle either… and I am not yet done with my own task."

She stood, going to the table she had looked toward so many times, and her hand went to a large fold of cloth placed there. Lifting it, she began unrolling the thick silk for me to see; several seconds passed during which I saw nothing but more smooth cream-colored space, but suddenly a spot of brilliant silver caught the morning sun coming into the room and flashed fiercely. It was followed by another, and another, all positioned around twisting white patterns — and I realized what I was seeing. There were seven stars encircling a white tree with many curling branches and roots, and above it all was a tall crown, wrought of gold and silver. Arwen was holding a huge banner bearing the signs of Gondor.

"It's beautiful!" I gasped, my vision practically scalded by the flame of the jeweled stars. "You made this?"

"Yes, but my father knows not of its making," the Elf said in an unexpectedly serious tone. "Long have I worked in secret, waiting for the day that this gift may be taken into the East where Lord Aragorn travels."

I frowned in confusion, biting the inside of my lower lip, and I asked, "Has that day come?"

"It is approaching quickly," she said, drawing her standard carefully back into its protective roll and setting it on her worktable. "Time grows short for this age of Middle-earth, and an end is in sight; it is only who will remain after the battle is finished that is still uncertain. I have faith that my gift will reach the Elfstone before all is decided."

Her confidence and resolve were so strong that I could not argue with her, and I grinned a little. "I'm sure it will reach him in time, one way or the other," I said.

Arwen mirrored my slight smile and with her fair hand smoothed a few of my stray curls. "It is a comfort to have you say so, Mistadiel."

* * *

It was not until many hours later, as I was cleaning and combing Bronwe alone inside the stables in the deepening evening, that I suddenly comprehended how Arwen meant for her gift to reach Aragorn — and the realization hit me so sharply that I dropped the flat grooming brush in my hand.

"Oh," I said aloud, stunned, and Bronwe's ears slanted in my direction.

Arwen's brothers had been sent after the Dúnedain to make them ready in case Strider should call for them — and was it not they, the Men of the West, who were to ride with Isildur's heir on the Paths of the Dead? I squinted into the shadows of the angled roof above, struggling to remember the story of the Grey Company from _Return of the King_. Elladan and Elrohir would be with the Dúnedain when they found Aragorn in Rohan — yes, that was it — and a member of their group would be bearing Arwen's gift.

"And that means," I said slowly to myself, thinking hard, "that they will have to pass through Rivendell before journeying to Rohan — "

And I was struck with an idea.


	31. Window for the East

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own any of Tolkien's characters or the world he created. The only character of mine (Jorryn) has decided to take a holiday in Tolkien's Middle-earth. No copyright infringement on any of J. R. R. Tolkien's works is intended.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Whew -- I'm glad I got this out in time for the holidays. :) Still, I'm sorry it took so long... thank you, everyone, for your patience and your reviews. In the last chapter, Jorryn was struck with a sudden idea, and now you all get to finally find out what it was! Much credit goes to the wonderful **ArwenAria18** for beta-reading this for me, and also to Mr. Tolkien for giving me such amazing characters to play with. Please enjoy, and let me know what you think!

**30**

"What are you plotting, Jorryn?"

I jumped in surprise and moved to face Bilbo Baggins, turning away from the sun-drenched view of the Last Homely House that was presented by the balcony just off his quarters, frowning in confusion. I had been idly humming an Elvish song about Elbereth, which I'd recently learned in clumsy pieces from Arwen, but I fell silent at Bilbo's question and shifted the load of papers in my arms, countering innocently, "What on earth do you mean?"

The hobbit, seated at a small writing desk further inside his room, gave me a censorious look and scratched idly at the parchment before him with a large quill. "My dear, you are speaking to the hobbit whose Joke played at a certain Party not long ago will be talked about in the Shire for centuries to come. Don't assume he cannot tell when others are planning to do something similar, or worse."

I couldn't help smiling at him as I thumbed through the notes I had been dictating. "I don't assume anything, Bilbo, and neither should you."

Bilbo snorted and shook his head. "You're thinking about _something_, Jo… I've seen that expression on your face — and Frodo's face — enough times to know you've got a scheme in mind. You might as well tell me what it is."

"You're imagining things," I said dismissively, trying to laugh, suddenly and strangely unable to look the hobbit in the eye.

I buried my nose in his papers and picked up from where he had interrupted me, but my thoughts lingered on what he had said. It seemed that, with age, the elderly Baggins was getting more and more astute — or was my hope for the idea that had formed in my head, only days ago, so blatant in everything I did that even Bilbo could see it?

_Return of the King_ had been the one book of the series that I had really studied and dissected after my first reading. I loved the other two books just as much, but there was _so much_ in the last one, so many places and people and events, that I had actually spent time writing out notes as I devoured every chapter, so long ago in my own Time. I had jotted down names and places I had meant to later look up. I had organized the Rohirrim and the people of Gondor into their respective categories, adding Merry, Pippin, Gandalf, Aragorn, and others into the right groups after I had finished the first part of the story. I had listed several happenings in order on another page.

But there in Bilbo's room, I grimaced — I could remember a fairly large amount of what I'd written, but I would have done nearly anything to have those notes with me in Middle-earth then! I had once told Gandalf that I was attempting to forget everything I knew, but as time wore on, I found myself cursing the fact that I had not written down what had been so fresh in my mind at the beginning.

Because it was upon all of this hoarded and half-forgotten knowledge that I was now basing my plan of escape.

The dinner bell chimed in Elrond's main house, and our heads came up. Bilbo glanced down at the fine handwriting covering a third of his page. "Well, we've gotten a bit done, my dear," he said, "but it's time for a nice midday meal, I think."

I grinned and set my papers down carefully next to his manuscript, stretching as I followed him out his door to the steps leading down into Rivendell. The breeze, heavy with the sounds of rushing water and whispering branches, was fresh and cool on my face, sweeping my skirts around my ankles. I went after Bilbo down his narrow stairway, waving to Nátucien and a pair of other Elves on a walkway across the way from us.

"Bilbo," I asked idly, trying to hide my true interest, "when were Elrond's sons supposed to return?"

"I thought they were already back," he said, to my surprise, his withered hand floating above the banister at his side. "I heard a good deal of noise this morning in the courtyard, and when I asked someone about it later, I was told that a company, thirty riders strong, had reached Imladris just before the gray dawn."

My heart took a burning leap into my throat, and I could only say quietly, "I hadn't heard that — they must be back, then."

I was deep in thought all the way to the main house, so that I hardly realized where I was by the time I found myself seated between Bilbo and Arwen at Elrond's table in the banquet hall. I looked around for Elladan or Elrohir, but they were nowhere to be found among the many clusters of Elves standing along the curtained walls, nor were they seated at any of the tables. I strained to see outside through the windows, and the eyes of Elrond's daughter settled on me.

"You are not yourself, Mistadiel," Arwen Evenstar murmured to me with a smile, pouring milk into my goblet.

"I'm sorry, I'm distracted," I whispered back. I stole a glimpse at Lord Elrond, farther up the table, and then frowned down at my plate, speaking sideways to Arwen. "Did your brothers get back this morning?"

"They did, but they are now resting themselves," Arwen answered. "They have brought back with them all the Dúnedain that they could call to arms in the few days they had. They plan to leave as soon as they receive word that they are needed."

"Oh, all right," I said dimly, concentrating hard on the tablecloth. I hid my hands in my lap, for they began to shake with the apprehension that rose within me. _So little time_, I thought, so little time to get things done — I could not let another day go by without speaking to Elrond, or else all my chances were gone forever. I was afraid, of course, of what he may say to my strange request, but I made up my mind to see the Elf-lord after the meal was finished.

My thoughts drifted elsewhere during most of the luncheon, yet I managed to maintain a conversation with Arwen and nod at whatever Bilbo was saying at all the correct times. Mostly, however, I picked at my food and merely listened to the chatter around me. Elvish words blended into the low buzz of the Common Speech, spoken intermittently by Lord Elrond and Arwen and the old Baggins, only just above the hush of the Loudwater's falls outside. I thought of my hobbits and wondered what they were doing at that moment, and a hollow ache developed in my chest. Oh, how I _missed_ them.

"It has been said that we are to be graced with another of your songs tonight, Master Baggins," Arwen said to Bilbo around me. "May we look forward to hearing it in the Hall of Fire this evening?"

"I most certainly will not be singing it, Milady, if it gets sung at all," replied Bilbo humbly. "There are much more able singers to be found here, and my few verses are hardly worthy of the Hall."

Arwen's sweet laughter filled the hall, and several of her kindred fell silent and observed us from around the table. "You are not as unworthy as you say, my dear friend," she said. "Already some of your writings have made it into my father's libraries."

"Well, because I put them there, of course," the hobbit smirked. He leaned on his elbows over what remained of his food, his fingers intertwined before his wrinkled countenance, and broke into my solemn reverie with a curt question. "Will you be out riding today, Jo?"

"I don't know — maybe if I have time," I replied.

Bilbo's eyebrow lifted triumphantly, and he asked with ill-disguised coyness, "Oh, and what else do you plan on doing?"

I glanced past the hobbit down the table, saw that Elrond had left his chair vacant, and turned back to him. My lips curled into a cheeky simper, and I stood, telling the Baggins before I excused myself, "I have not had a free moment, Master Bilbo, since I became your personal assistant."

I took the short path out of the hall and down several adjacent corridors, breathing in the cool, mist-laden air through the open archways that I passed. I saw the graceful bridges and heard the hiss of wind through the branches of nearby trees, and I felt a pang of wistfulness, which was followed closely by shame. I was thinking of Hobbiton. I loved Imladris and the Elves, but it all felt so above me, so indescribably beautiful and otherworldly, that I knew I could never love it as I had loved the homely countryside of the Shire and the tangy smell of pipe-weed on Bag End's porch. I missed it more than any other place I had seen in Middle-earth.

My fear bore down on me like a numb weight as I neared the libraries, where I expected to find Lord Elrond. Doubts began to flit around inside my skull, and my bare feet faltered on the smooth tiles, bringing me to a stumbling stop — was I a fool? What would Frodo or Gandalf say if they were standing before me in the hall? I tried to banish the image of their playful grins, thinking they would agree with what my conscience was trying to tell me, and steadied my breath. Leaning around a final corner, I gazed into the sunlit antechamber and perceived Elrond's outline before one of his bookcases.

"My lord," I called meekly, not daring to enter without permission.

The Elf turned with a large roll of parchment trailing from his hands to the bottom hem of his robes, and he smiled slightly. "You were quick to follow me, Mistadiel," he quipped. "How goes the day for you?"

"Fine, sire," I said hastily, and I gathered my skirts and walked a few paces nearer to him. I spoke quickly, fearing I would lose my nerve at any second, tripping over my own words and sounding even more terrified than I felt. "My lord, I heard that your sons returned this morning with the Dúnedain."

"Yes, they arrived before sunrise," Elrond said, his attention returning to the document held delicately between his long fingers.

Uncomfortable, I chewed on my lip. "Are they — I mean, do you know when they are to depart again?"

Only his eyes flicked upward in a rapid movement under the deep shadows of his brow, and within half an instant I was pinned under his stare, pierced, as easy to read as the paper he'd been studying. His voice was sharp when he replied, "They will leave the moment they are summoned to Lord Aragorn's side. What is the cause of your sudden curiosity?"

I hated arguing. During many previous occasions I had found that I was very bad at it, and so I was afraid to reply to Lord Elrond's question, almost sure that I would be immediately refuted. My response came out in a muddled rush, and the words trembled.

"My lord, I would like to ride with them to Rohan."

His eyebrows shot up more quickly than I thought was possible, and he straightened into an imposing figure, towering over me. Several heavy moments passed, during which I squirmed nervously and waited with mounting dismay under his stare.

"Mistadiel," the Elf said at last in a heavy tone, his expression stony, "you know in your heart what my answer will be."

My spirits plummeted; this was what I had most dreaded, throughout all my meticulous planning and false optimism, though it had not been unexpected. I pressed on stubbornly, "Lord Elrond, I have no wish to go to war — only to be of some use to anyone who will tolerate me — to be nearer to my — "

"Jorryn, would you have me deliver you openly into the hands of the Enemy?" he wondered evenly, turning away to a table on which more papers were spread. "The path my sons will take to Rohan leads them directly past Isengard, within the very shadow of Saruman's fortress. Have you forgotten his treachery?"

There was a flicker of faint, desperate hope amid my despair, and I darted around a pair of high-backed chairs to be opposite Lord Elrond. "Isengard's power will have long before been broken by the time they reach it! Merry and Pippin have probably already helped awaken the Ents in Fangorn, and they will go to Orthanc — "

"You must not speak of this!" interrupted the Elf, his head snapping up, and a dangerous expression passed over his face. Something in his eyes flashed — I drew back, almost palpably scalded by such severe words, and he continued, "It was for _this_ very reason, Mistadiel, that you were left in Imladris. Your knowledge is still a danger to the future of Middle-earth — all of our plans are, even now, hanging by a thread. Would you risk destroying this one chance that we have?"

Discomfited, I stopped and looked to the ground, and Elrond did not release me from his focus for several seconds. I felt my throat tighten in a furious effort to prevent burning tears from escaping down my cheeks. I could not say that I had not assumed I would get this kind of reaction from Lord Elrond, but I wanted _so much_ to be out of Rivendell, and I was willing to go to any lengths to do so. Yet, what could I do — how did one go against such an obstinate refusal?

"Surely I am no longer a person of consequence in Sauron's mind," I mumbled forlornly into the hush of the libraries. "He knows that the Ring has left Rivendell."

"You cannot know for certain what goes through the Dark Lord's mind," said Lord Elrond, folding his arms at his waist. Walking away from me to a table set within an alcove across the hall, he added, "Even if it has been revealed to you in the past."

_Oh yes, I can,_ I thought resentfully, reddening. Why did he treat me as though I knew nothing? Yes, I was not anything but a child to him, nothing more than a naïve mortal to one of the wisest of the Elder Race, but I was _not_ a fool. Emboldened by my bitterness, I pressed my lips together in a firm line and said quietly, "Lord Elrond, I don't pretend to know all that is happening in this world, but I do know that Sauron is not above fear. He will soon be aware that Isildur's Heir has been found, and so he will bring the full force of his armies against the race of Men."

The Elf paused as he poured himself a glass of wine, but did not look to me. I waited only a second for him to react, and when he didn't, I continued, "Even as we speak, Saruman is preparing at Isengard to make war against Rohan. The Dark Lord already considers them a lost people, and his Eye turns to Gondor."

Elrond put down his wineglass, the bright burgundy drink within it left untasted. I watched the Elf's back, wishing with all my might that there was a chance he would yield. I saw the delicate rise and fall of his broad shoulders when he sighed, and he said, somewhat sarcastically, "And… you wish to ride there, Mistadiel. You wish to go to the very place where the evils of Mordor are endeavoring to destroy the world of Men."

Something in the weight of his tone, in the gravity of his words, made me realize the seriousness of what I had just pointed out — and I could not believe that I'd not thought of it before.

"The world of Men," I whispered slowly, frowning. "The world of _my people_."

It did not feel awkward to say it. In truth, I felt as much a part of this world as any Hobbit or Elf possibly could; I had been in Middle-earth too long and learned too much to think of it as anything else but my home. Now I was of a race that was struggling for survival each day, but I had done nothing to aid them. My innards twisted queasily.

Elrond pivoted and raised a commanding finger, shaking it faintly and warningly at me. "You are not of this Time, Mistadiel," he admonished, "and you cannot count yourself among them."

My insides felt frozen, and I couldn't stop myself from shivering as I argued, "Why can't I, Lord Elrond? What more must I do to be considered part of this world? Did I not earn a place in Hobbiton with the Bagginses during any of the time I spent living there?"

"You are _not_ of this world!" he repeated, louder and more fiercely. Impatience was beginning to show in his ageless features, so much that I was frightened by what could be brought on by his anger. "The one true place you have been granted in this Middle-earth is here, in Rivendell, Lady Jorryn — and do not forget that it was I who granted it to you!"

He whipped away, walking to the balcony just next to the niche where his untouched drink remained on its carven table. Stepping out into the sun to gaze over the gardens below, the Elf-lord bowed his head, his hands gripping the balustrade of the balcony tightly. I watched the wind tug at his robes and long braided hair, my stomach churning as I stood stricken and unmoving, unwilling to quarrel with him any longer.

"I am not ungrateful for everything you've done, my lord," I garbled numbly, hating myself for making him angry.

_You should have known that your wishes were in vain from the beginning_…

I saw too late that I had been a reckless fool, rejecting all of Lord Elrond's help and advice, and quite possibly ending any companionship that had existed between us. I retreated a few steps into the musty shadows of the library, but hesitated and turned back to him.

"Lord Elrond… the only place _I_ believe I've ever had in this world is at my friends' sides, and they are out doing whatever they can to save Middle-earth. I only want to be able to say that I did the same."

Though Elrond lifted his head, he did not look at me. He said softly, "You cannot ask this of me, Mistadiel."

Quailing, I sensed the burning, salty trail of a tear down my cheek, and I swiped at my nose, sniffing. I had to leave, I had to escape — I wanted nothing more at that instant than to find some isolated corner of Rivendell and cry until I could muster enough courage to be in the presence of the Elves once more. I dropped into an inept curtsey and sniveled, "Yes, I understand — please forgive me, my lord."

I left him on his balcony with my apology, hurrying out of the main house, but when I had reached the edge of the gardens, I stopped, not sure where I could go. Eventually I decided to skirt the courtyards, hiding in the underbrush if ever my path took me near the surrounding Elvish dwellings, and I soon found myself in the stables, grumbling past the horses that were curious enough to gawk at me. Bronwe was the only one I was glad to see; at my futile sniffling, she put her long golden head out over her stall door and whinnied gently as I approached.

"I should have threatened to follow them, no matter what. It got Pippin into the Fellowship, and so it might have worked for me," I choked aloud, kicking at the straw littering the floor. Bronwe's large black eyes flicked over my tearstained face, ghostly sunlight from above glinting in her perceptive stare. Touching the course hairs of her brow, I asked my horse aimlessly, "Would you have been up to a trip to Rohan, anyway?"

She tossed her head, shaking off my hand, and I could not interpret this as agreement or not. "Thank you, you're a lot of help," I said sulkily, and I slipped into her stall, retrieving the brush I was accustomed to use for grooming her. I ran my palm down her broad neck, combing through her mane with my fingers. "Do you need some company?"

In this manner I occupied myself for nearly an hour, as I inwardly tried to banish the guilt clouding my mood and the thoughts of what had passed between Elrond and I that cluttered my mind. "Fool" was not a strong enough word to express how I saw myself then, so I resorted to more familiar terms like "dummy," "stupid," and "blasted idiot" while cursing my senselessness. My frustration with my situation increased steadily until I brushed Bronwe so ferociously that she swatted me with her tail.

Plopping down resignedly in the hay, I thumped her smooth flank with my brush and gave her an annoyed look, protesting, "I'm sorry, Bronwe, but you shouldn't complain. You haven't got any problems in the world other than my brushing you a little too hard."

Suddenly, I heard the laughter of someone outside my compartment echo through the wide space of the stables, and a second later, an Elf appeared at the doorway of Bronwe's stall. "Is it the habit of Ladies to converse with their ponies?"

I squinted up at the newcomer, taking in his strong outline, dark hair, and storm-colored eyes, able to guess well enough who he was in the dim light. I bowed to him where I sat and hoped that I didn't appear too unkempt. "It's good to see you back in Imladris, my lord."

Elrohir, son of Lord Elrond, returned my bow. He looked the same — perhaps he was a little more weathered, but he still possessed the same elegance of speech and manner that I remembered so well. I wasn't sure how I could tell he was not his brother Elladan, especially from my vantage point on the ground, but something in the way he leaned over the gate of the stall, much like I had seen him once lean over a quiver of arrows, told me who he was. He grinned slightly at me and said, "Your friend would understand you better if you spoke the language of the Elves, Mistadiel."

"I doubt that," I snorted, "because I wouldn't be able to say anything intelligible to her."

Chuckling, he slid around the unlatched door and moved to cradle my horse's muzzle. He bent close to her and murmured, "_No thala, Bronwe… sui i eneth le ónen_."

"What did you say to her?" I asked, unable to suppress my curiosity.

"I told her that she must be steady," the Elf translated distractedly, brushing the pony's tangled mane from her brow, "so she may be more like the name I gave her."

"You gave her the name Bronwe?"

"Yes, it means faith — and I do not wonder if that is the very reason my father chose her for you."

I sighed and pushed myself to my feet, thinking that was exactly the sort of thing that Lord Elrond would do. Leaning against the pony's side, I toyed with the brush still in my hand, watching Elrohir stroke Bronwe's neck and smooth the patches in her coat that had been matted by my furious brushing. At length, I questioned, "Where are the Dúnedain staying, at the moment?"

"My father gave them covered grounds near the courtyard, since they had no wish to stay in rooms," he answered. "I was sent to see that all was in order for them, but I found all but one were asleep." Elrohir removed his fingers from Bronwe's mane and intertwined them at his waist, smiling at me. "They should have wakened by now, and they will want news — and so I will leave you to your business, Mistadiel."

But I stopped him, managing to catch his sleeve before he escaped. "Who sent you to check on the Dúnedain — was it your father?"

He nodded, "He wishes them to get as much rest as possible here, and he asked me to assist them."

"Then he must have also sent you after me, correct?" I asked, releasing him and pursing my lips unhappily.

Elrohir frowned bemusedly, and in the shadows of the stables I could hardly make out the faint change in his expression. "It was my thought alone that encouraged me to seek you out in the stables, Mistadiel. You have been unhappy here, in spite of all the efforts of my father and Arwen, and I merely wanted to know if all was well with you."

Relieved and embarrassed, I bumbled, "Ah — yes, all is well, thank you — I'm sorry, I just wasn't sure." I pivoted quickly to begin grooming Bronwe again, hastily drawing the subject away from myself. "Will you and the others be at supper tonight?"

"If we are still here by nightfall, you may expect us," Elrohir said, remnants of doubt still playing upon his features.

I squinted up at him over my shoulder, wondering, "You think there's a possibility you may leave before tonight, so soon after arriving, with only a few hours of rest?"

"There is a chance, yes," he said, "for we must be ready to ride the moment Aragorn summons — that could be at any time."

My gaze slipped from him and down to a spot of dirt showing through the straw at his booted feet, and I suddenly felt very tired. "I see," was all I could manage to reply.

The Elf hesitated, halfway outside the stall, one of his lithe arms draped over the gate as he made ready to leave me. "You are certain that you need nothing, Mistadiel?"

I feigned a grin and bobbed my head mechanically, murmuring, "Yes, I'm all right, my lord — thank you."

I waited until the echoes of his footsteps grew fainter and died amid the sounds of rustling grain and pawing hooves… and then I dropped into the hay and grumbled up to Bronwe, "Yep, I think I feel about as good as I ever will."

* * *

That night, I wore one of the finer dresses that Nátucien had given me — a light silver gown of silk and lace that managed to drape itself somewhat becomingly over my shoulders and arms, open-sleeved and fairly loose-fitting. Part of me wanted only to hide in my room, but the other half knew that my only opportunity to speak with any of the Dúnedain might pass after the sunset, and I was prepared to swallow my pride and hope that I could salvage whatever remained of my friendship with Lord Elrond. I stuck my tongue out at my reflection in the mirror of my room before leaving for dinner, resolved to make the best of things.

I went alone through the chilly evening to the banquet hall of the Last Homely House, searching through the trees for signs of the riders that had come that morning, but I found no trace of them, and I was disappointed. "They could not have gone without saying goodbye," I said to myself, though I was thinking the exact opposite.

I did not allow myself to consider what I would have to face if Lord Elrond had told Bilbo or Arwen about our argument; the old Baggins had been exceedingly curious, and he would most certainly want to know what I had been planning, but I didn't know how he would react to it. After all, he had given me an entire speech about how our parts in the Story were over, a fact which I still had trouble accepting.

The dining hall was buzzing with activity by the time I reached it, but my usual seat between Arwen and Bilbo was open. I crossed the room without lifting my head, meeting only a few greetings with a shy nod, and hurriedly slipped into my chair, only then taking a second to see if Elrond's sons were there. To my surprise, I found them across the table from me, and I was so happy to see them that I burst, "You're still here!"

They laughed melodiously, and Arwen smiled, putting a fair hand to my bare arm, "Yes, they are still here. And the Dúnedain are near, also — did you not notice them as you came in?"

I glanced back and saw several Men at the doorway, dressed in rough traveling garments much like the clothing I recalled seeing on Aragorn. They were grimy and chiseled but very noble, still girt with swords and daggers, bows slung over their strong shoulders. Their features were grim, but in their eyes was a light keener than a blade.

"They are the Rangers of the North, Mistadiel," one of the twins said to me. "You know them?"

"Yes, I know them," I breathed, awed by their appearance, thinking heartbrokenly about Aragorn.

"Of course she knows them, Lord Elladan," echoed Bilbo, thoroughly engrossed with his meal of bread and fruit. "What _doesn't_ the Lady know, I wonder?"

I gave him a sharp jab with my elbow, and he winked mischievously at me as Arwen and her brothers smiled at our child play. I allowed myself to inwardly breathe a sigh of relief, for it seemed that Elrond had been content to keep our earlier encounter to himself, and not even his children knew of it. I looked for the Elf-lord then — and there he was, seated at the head of the table like always, looking serene and dignified as ever. He met my gaze and nodded calmly to me over his cup.

I nodded back and settled more comfortably in my chair, happy that things were back to normal and greatly comforted that Lord Elrond wasn't angry with me. I was looking forward to a long and pleasant meal, now.

In spite of the palpable shadow that had begun to hang over the Last Homely House, all were merry and the hall was filled with the laughter of Elves and Men. The Dúnedain were content to linger at the edges of the room, apparently not hungry enough to eat and not tired enough to sit with us, presiding like regal guards over the banquet. Most spoke of happier times that I had not chanced to share, and all around the table I listened to stories of splendid courts in faraway lands, dances in the pinewoods of the mountains, and the returns of heroic warriors from battles that had happened long ago. My spirit ached to be in a place like Elladan and Elrohir so vividly described to us, a place where majestic banners caught the wind and sunlight glanced off the armor of brave soldiers, where one could be received in the halls of noble kings.

"If Osgiliath had not fallen in the days long past, it would have remained one of the fairest cities in Middle-earth," mused Elladan, his gaze turned inward to some memory of the grand place. "Now it lies in ruin, deserted, and it crumbles as the fires of Mount Doom come nearer to devouring it forever."

One of the Dúnedain interjected, "It is not deserted, Milord. The Men of Gondor have been defending it for almost a year."

"If those defenses at the river fall, there will be nothing standing between Mordor and Minas Tirith," put in another. "One swift blow, and the White Tower will be broken."

The man had not said it, but I was aware of his unspoken words, and they danced chillingly in the air before me: _And if Minas Tirith is taken, the world of Men will fail_. The same thought seemed to go through everyone's minds at the same time, and several heads bowed sadly. They had no hope.

I sensed Lord Elrond's eyes come to rest heavily on me, and he said into the empty hush, "We must trust to the strength of Men in this darkening hour. Their defenses will hold."

At that moment, the doors at our backs banged open, and a windswept Elf entered the hall. His face was dark and spotted with filth and sweat, and his dark cape was thrown back over his shoulders to reveal a broad chest covered by light silver mail. Squinting around desperately, he spotted Lord Elrond and hurried toward him, sparing no time to explain himself or greet those assembled. As he brushed past me I caught the scents of dust and horsehair. Everyone fell abruptly silent, watching him bend over the Elf-lord at the head of the table to murmur something urgently to him. I felt Bilbo bristle next to me.

Without a word, Elrond moved to his feet in a swift, fluid motion, looking to his sons and the Dúnedain, and when he strode quickly out of the banquet hall, they followed.

"What is it — what's going on?" I asked Arwen fearfully.

"Some word must have come from the East," she answered, her stare fixed on the retreating backs of the Men.

"And by the looks of things, it does not appear to be good news," said Bilbo. The old hobbit fetched his walking stick from under the table and, with effort, pushed his chair back, making ready to stand. He must have thought that he could be called for at any time, and he was prepared to do whatever Elrond asked.

Bending over her plate, Arwen closed her eyes, and a prayer that I could not understand came tumbling softly from her quivering lips as she folded her hands in her lap. "_Elessar, u-erich o __nín__ gwanno_," I heard her say, and Bilbo glanced at her pityingly.

An Elf-maid at the opposite side of Arwen leaned close to her and implored, "Milady, you cannot lose hope."

"What little hope I have ever had will not readily fly from me," responded Arwen, straightening in her chair. Suddenly, I felt her fingers in mine, trembling, and she whispered beseechingly to someone not present in the banquet hall, "Do not fly from me!"

"I could go and find out what is happening, Milady," Bilbo offered to Arwen, poised to hop from his seat and barge into the discussion that Elrond was having with the Men of the West.

But my dear old hobbit did not get the chance; one of the Dúnedain had come running back into the hall, and my head shot up at the words that rang through the room.

"Mistadiel, Lord Elrond calls for you," he said breathlessly. "We must hurry!"

Urgent though his voice was, I rose slowly, bewildered, oddly unable to feel my legs and dimly aware of Arwen stopping Bilbo from coming along. I followed the man out of the chamber, and he led me on the same path I had taken to Elrond's studies that very morning. Fear was making my head spin and my throat swell — what could have happened, and why must I have anything to do with it? The clear bubbling of the Loudwater seemed very far away now, and I was aware of nothing but the flapping cloak of the man in front of me and the pounding of my own heart in my ears.

In the libraries, we found the Men all standing stiff with their hands on their swords, their faces toward Lord Elrond, who was standing on the balcony exactly where I had left him with my apology. He was looking to the East, a figure straight and tall against the deepening dusk, his eyes reaching over the gloomy Mountains to the plains beyond, where the world was in turmoil. His stare was so intense that I was almost sure it penetrated completely through the Mountains.

No one spoke until Lord Elrond released a sigh and put his back to whatever he saw of the faraway lands. "_Andelu i ven_," he breathed, his brow furrowed worriedly.

Elrohir asked immediately in the same tongue, "_Man cenich_?"

Slipping his hands within the sleeves of his robe, Elrond lifted his troubled countenance and informed us soberly, "Saruman has emptied Isengard. A host of unspeakable number marches, even as we speak, against the Rohirrim mustered at Helm's Deep. Orcs are burning the plains as they go, destroying all in their path."

There was a split-second of silence. A man demanded, "Are we to ride, my lord?"

Elrond lifted an eyebrow and paced the floor before the lone Dúnadan at the head of the group, saying deftly, "I have spoken to Galadriel of the Golden Wood, and she sends word: _Aragorn has need of his kindred. Let the Dúnedain ride to him in Rohan!_"

Everyone around me shifted impatiently, eager to be at the side of their captain, and I felt a sharp sinking sensation in my stomach — I was so small amid all of them, these gallant sons of kings, and I shrank timidly away from their imposing forms while they beamed happily at each other. _We're going to see our chieftain again_, their sparkling eyes told me contentedly.

I was burning from head to toe with poisonous jealousy. The last rays of the setting sun slanted down from the West into the libraries, filling them with golden light and catching at the dark hair of the Dúnedain… but I was in shadow, surrounded by the Men whose vast bodies blocked out the rest of the world.

Elrond smiled grimly and gave a slow nod to the leader of the Men, "Yes, Halbarad, you shall ride — tonight, if you are willing."

Of course they were willing. The Dúnedain sent up a cheer, and several hurried out of the room to ready their horses and supplies. But Elrond's voice came above their clamor again as he wound through the Men clustered together in the honey-colored twilight, and they parted to allow him room between them.

"Yet," the Elf was saying quietly, "it was not only of the Dúnedain that the Lady of the Golden Wood spoke."

Two men stepped aside in front of me, and I saw Lord Elrond gazing down on my terrified face, his thin lips curled into a tiny smile. He knelt and placed his hands on my forearms, peering steadily at me, and I could only shake my head dazedly, not wanting to believe the impossible.

Elrond told me gently, "To you Galadriel sends these words of comfort, Mistadiel: _Not all decisions must be made by the wise. Do not despair, Lady of the Shire; take this window for the East!_"

Chills came over me, and I opened my mouth wide, even though no words would come for many moments. Finally I asked, my blood pulsing in my ears, "What — what does that mean, my lord?"

"It means that I have not the power to keep you in Imladris against your will, Lady Jorryn," he said. "All has been set in motion, and for good or ill, an end will come whether you are there to see it or not. You may ride to the aid of your friends if that is still your wish; my sons will have you seen safely into Rohan."

I could not even comprehend the last of what the Elf-lord said. My tears dampened the velvet cloth of his sleeve, and although he gave my arms light and reassuring squeezes, he could not stop me from shaking. I was _crying_ before all the noble Men of the West and the twin sons of Elrond, but I didn't care. My mind was filled with the memories of my hobbits, and the images of their glowing young faces filled me with such joy that my heart soared with elation.

"Thank you," I said brokenly, "thank you so much, Lord Elrond."

The Elf accepted my appreciation with a small bob of his head, then stood. "Go to Arwen and bid her to help you gather your things," he ordered. "All the rest you may leave to me — when you return here you will find Bronwe prepared and your sword burnished."

This was too good to be true. Biting my lip to stifle my weeping, I raised my eyes to Elrond, who had already moved away to speak privately to Halbarad. The Men were dispersed, and I remained almost entirely alone in the middle of the tiled floor, motionless while the Dúnedain bustled around me. But now, I was a part of their movements and their purpose — I had come back into the story, and I would not be remembered as one who was left behind to await whatever end was coming for our Middle-earth.

I felt the warmth of the fading sun at last as I turned to leave the libraries.


	32. Farewell We Call to Hearth and Hall

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own any of Tolkien's characters or the world he created. The only character of mine (Jorryn) has decided to take a holiday in Tolkien's Middle-earth. No copyright infringement on any of J. R. R. Tolkien's works is intended.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** See? Miracles do happen. :) Not only did I get this out less than a month after my last chapter, but I also finished it in time for J. R. R. Tolkien's birthday, today. It's the least I could do for our beloved professor.

_1. _**Faye** — Thanks so much for your reviews, and I'm very sorry I missed your question. You asked about the dream Jorryn had in Rivendell a few chapters ago, and whether it would play a part in this story. Well... I'm afraid Jorryn has missed her chance to get as far as Cirith Ungol. I'm sorry! Thanks again for reading; I hope you continue to enjoy my story. :)

I would also like to extend a special **thank you** to all who reviewed that last chapter (especially Rainne yours made me laugh). I can honestly say that I love you all for being so incredibly sweet. And now, on to the story... Please enjoy, and let me know what you think!

**31**

The night that I left Imladris with the Dúnedain and the sons of Elrond Half-elven was unbearably heavy and cold. It had taken less than an hour for all to be prepared, and I had left my lonely quarters at the other side of Rivendell in a horrible mess, one that Nátucien had promised to tidy up for me. Taking only the most necessary provisions, like my Dwarven boots, I had run all the way back to the courtyard to meet the Dúnedain, and now, bathed in silvery radiance emanated from the nearby Elvish dwellings, we were to be parted from the Last Homely House in a ceremony much like the Fellowship's.

"It seems to be some universal rule," Bilbo quipped, once again huddled under a shawl on the steps of the main house, "that all companies departing from Rivendell must leave when it is coldest and darkest and most uncomfortable for all involved."

Sitting atop Bronwe, I shot a look of adoration toward my elderly hobbit, wearing a borrowed set of Arwen Undómiel's more rugged traveling clothes and girt with the sword given to me by Tom Bombadil. My hands shook on the reins — not only because I was freezing, but also because of my own anticipation. I had said my goodbyes and cried a few more tears, yet there were no second thoughts about what I was doing.

At my side, secured to the saddle, rested Arwen's completed gift to Aragorn. "Will you bear it for me, Mistadiel?" she had asked while braiding my unruly hair away from my face earlier that evening. Of course, I'd immediately agreed to do so.

"So you shall bear one gift, and Halbarad the other," she had concluded, tying the ends of my curls at the small of my back with a gold cord, "for I am sending not only this, but Aragorn's horse, Roheryn, as well. He will be glad of it in these dark times, I think."

Brought out of the north by the Dúnedain, Roheryn was the only horse not bearing a rider in the courtyard. Lord Elrond had lifted an eyebrow when he saw the rough-haired mount and then the large standard, hidden in black cloth and tied to my saddle, but he had said nothing of it in his farewell. Instead, his words were of the dangers we would face in the East.

"All roads are being watched, Lady Jorryn. Speak nothing of your knowledge, even to the Dúnedain."

"I won't, my lord. I'll be safe."

"May the Valar protect you on your path under the sky," he bade, covering my hands with his on my saddle-horn and bowing to me.

I beamed and replied in inelegant Elvish, "_Hannon le _— thank you, Lord Elrond."

Even dear Bilbo managed to hobble down to me after Lord Elrond, and he reached up to squeeze my fingers warmly. "I wish you had told me what you were up to," he said regretfully, "and then I might've tried to come along."

"Bilbo, you really are a crazy old hobbit," I laughed, loving him so much I thought I would burst.

"We'll see each other again soon, my dear Lady."

Returning to the steps of his home with Bilbo, Elrond turned and opened his arms to us, calling out, "Let the Dúnedain ride to their captain in Rohan!"

All around me, there were shouts of, "To Rohan! To Elessar!" and the men whirled their mounts around to gallop out of Rivendell… but I paused, looking back to Arwen, Elrond, and Bilbo, the three who had been my closest friends during the long months I had spent in Imladris. And their encouraging smiles stayed with me, warming my heart for a long time, lingering in my dreams when I slept many hours later.

I awoke with a start, momentarily disoriented by the sensation of hard ground at my back and gray sunlight filtering down on me through branches — but after a second I recognized the heavy black fabric near my head. I had slept with Arwen's banner safely alongside me.

Sitting up, I kicked off my blankets and surveyed my surroundings, blinking hard in the early light. Our encampment was already filled with activity around me, and Men were standing around small fires to warm themselves. We were in a small stand of trees at the feet of the Misty Mountains, and to the west stretched miles and miles of grassland. My ears, so used to the sound of the River Loudwater bubbling and rushing down waterfalls every moment in Rivendell, felt suddenly deprived. I could not remember much more of our night's ride than the beating of hooves and the whistle of cold air past my face, and so I had no idea where we truly were, and I didn't have the courage to ask any of my companions. I hadn't spoken since leaving Imladris.

"You slept well?" someone at my back inquired.

My heart jerked strangely, and I was suddenly reminded of being met with the same words one morning in Bree, so long ago. I twisted about in my blankets, some foolish hope making me expect to find Aragorn behind me, but my eyes were met with Halbarad. The leader of the Dúnedain was seated against a tree trunk not far from me, his long legs sprawled out before him, a pipe in one hand while the opposite rested on the hilt of his sword. In the dim light, he looked fatigued. Odd shadows were cast over his face by a hard, jagged nose, and most of his strong jaw was covered in a stubbly beard and framed by dark, shoulder-length hair. His gaze was sharp and fixed intently on me.

"Yes, Milord," I replied hesitantly, pushing flyaway curls away from my vision.

"That is well," the man said, "for it will be long ere you get to enjoy a good rest again."

I straightened my skirts and shifted onto my knees, rolling up my coverlets as I went, embarrassed for being the last one to wake. "Where are we, sire?" I dared to ask, squinting out over the plains once more.

"We have not yet reached the Hollin Ridge, Milady," Halbarad answered, and he drew a long breath through his pipe. He blew a perfect smoke-ring, and I looked away, thinking too much of Gandalf and Bilbo. "It will be another four days before we reach the Gap of Rohan, past Eregion and Dunland and the Last Peak of the Misty Mountains. There will be hard riding between here and there."

_Four days_. I could do it. I had ridden long distances before — never because it was the only method of transportation, obviously, but rather because trail riding had been a recreation during fairs and rodeos where I had lived — and I did not doubt my skills as a rider. There was nothing difficult about staying on top of a horse for extended periods of time, as I had told myself repeatedly before.

Why, then, should I feel so nervous in the midst of all these hardened Men of the West?

I was aware of Elladan coming to stand over me, and he proffered a plate of cold meats, saying, "Take some food, Mistadiel, for you need your strength and we have trying days ahead of us."

The journey through Hollin was uneventful, though the lands were rough and barren, and the path was dangerous, often dropping into deep ravines or wide rocky valleys. Little more grew in that ancient land than short, thorny scrub and gray grasses, and elsewhere it was solid rock rising out of the earth. It was quiet there in Eregion, where I had been told Elves had lived so many ages before, and the land lamented their departure — but to me, the silence was unnerving. We passed the remains of citadels and broken bulwarks, and those were the only remnants of the country's vanished folk. The Mountains at our left grew larger with every passing hour, stretching on and bending back westward before us like an enormous wall. When the day waned, our shadows were lengthened at our sides, skipping along over the boulders and creeping down hills with us.

On our second day away from Rivendell, Elrohir stood with me at the edge of a stream where I had been gazing south to the last of the Misty Mountains during our rushed midday meal. Giving me his flask to drink from, he said, "I'm sorry, Mistadiel, but there is no milk to be had here. I hope that water will satisfy you for now."

"It's perfectly all right," I smiled, taking a long drink and handing the flask back to him. "Thank you."

The Elf returned my smile and turned to follow my gaze southward. The wind played with his long braids and swept his cloak over his shoulders to give me a view of his fair attire and light mail. "It is always to the end of the Mountains you look," he observed, after a short pause, "and never back to the valley of the Last Homely House. Did life in Imladris so dissatisfy you?"

"No, it didn't," I answered, and I gnawed on my lower lip, frowning. "I don't really know why I was so miserable there, when everyone was so good to me."

"You were not a prisoner of Rivendell," the Elf said. "You were merely a ward of my father, and he did not wish to go against the Council's decision to have you remain with him."

"My unhappiness was not any fault of his," I said, forcing down the guilt that always arose when I spoke of leaving Rivendell. "I just felt — somewhat useless there, while the Company was encountering more disaster and danger in a day than I could imagine facing in my lifetime. It just wasn't where I wished to be, I guess."

Elrohir bowed his head slightly, showing his understanding. "We are halfway, then, to wherever it is you wish to be," he quipped, leaning back to stare up into the faces of the three mountains at our left, under which we were resting. "Once we leave the banks of the Sirannon, we will have turned away from the very path that the Fellowship took only months before this moment, and we will travel the long way through Dunland until we come to the River Isen."

My mouth opened in surprise. "We've been taking the Fellowship's road?"

Elrohir nodded, pointing to the highest peak above us. "The Company followed the Gate Stream and entered Moria at the feet of great Celebdil, who looks down on you now."

I peered at the mighty mountain's snow-capped summit glinting in the afternoon sun, and it pleased me to think that I was seeing the same things that my hobbits had once seen. It was good to be able to share something with them, no matter how small that something was to anyone else.

"Soon it will be Methedras, the Last Peak of the Hithaeglir, who frowns upon us, and not Celebdil," continued Elrohir, bending to hoist saddlebags onto his shoulder. "But it will be night when we reach the Gap of Rohan and come into the Westfold, and so you will not see it."

I followed him back to an area behind an outcropping of rocks where our horses had been tethered. Many of the Dúnedain were prepared to leave, and while I made sure that all my belongings were intact and safely stowed, Halbarad trotted near to me and said, "It will be a long journey through Dunland, Milady. The Wild Men who took that land for their own long ago still inhabit it, and we cannot linger once we cross the river."

Climbing onto Bronwe, I breathed deeply and nodded to him, feeling a prickle of worry build within me at the thought of any type of Wild Men. Being the only girl in a group of riders was a disadvantage, once again.

"There is no need for fear," said Elladan reassuringly, at my rear. "Saruman has called many of them out to fight the Rohirrim, and these Dunlendings are not so smart as to leave behind men to guard their own country."

We went over the river with no difficulty and entered Dunland quietly. It was not much later, galloping across the empty plains, that I saw smoke billowing into the sky far ahead of us, yellow and orange in the sunset, swelling upward from Isengard. There was little more than that to be seen or heard. This country was wasted and more desolate than Hollin, and we rode on for the rest of the day and much of the night, passing over rolling, parched hills and brown brooks. It grew warmer, and the air grew heavier.

Elladan brought my mind away from my mounting anxiety by telling me of Ost-in-Edhil, the Elvish city that had stood on the southern borders of Hollin in the Second Age of Middle-earth. We had left its ruins behind when we entered Dunland. I could not see him in the darkness, but his voice was comforting.

"There in that magnificent place, the Rings of Power were forged in the House of the Mírdain," my companion said, his words unsteady and broken by the cantering of his mount. "The entire city was destroyed when Sauron invaded Eriador, and shattered stones are all that remain of that realm's ancient people."

We continued on well after midnight, until my eyes burned for sleep and I thought I might topple right off Bronwe. I heard Halbarad inquire of the twins once, in the hours of the moon's setting, "I wish to go on riding to the dawn, but the Lady tires. Should we rest here awhile?"

Humiliation shot through me, and I shook myself enough to call to the three of them, at the head of our pillar of riders many feet away, "I can go on — make your decisions as though I'm not here."

I heard the thump of hooves and felt a cloud of dust on my face when someone stopped somewhere next to me. "I will ride beside you, Mistadiel," came Elrohir's voice, his hand reaching out to right me in my saddle. For the rest of the night I listened to his stories above the pounding of our horses' feet, and eventually the images he conjured in my mind were so vivid that I was sure later that I had fallen asleep and dreamt most of the endless darkness away.

The dawn came depressing and gray behind the Mountains, coloring the sky pale against the dark, craggy outlines on the east, and I could see by the cheerless daylight that the countryside had not changed since the evening before. I wondered if we had made any progress at all.

Raising a gloved hand, Halbarad stopped us in a hollow between hills, just after the sun had climbed high enough to be seen above the looming peaks. "We shall sleep here," he said. "Use this respite well, for it will be the only one we have today."

I slipped from Bronwe and pressed my brow tiredly against the cool leather of my saddle, fumbling with the straps that held my bags in place. My head was pounding, and my body was dragging — every part of me seemed excruciatingly strained or pinched. Halbarad ordered the men to keep quiet and not light fires, since it couldn't be risked… but I didn't care, I only wanted sleep.

It seemed like I had only just let my head fall, halfway off my blankets into the weeds and dirt, when I was abruptly yanked to my feet, given a flagon of spiced wine, and ordered to get on my horse.

"What's going on?" I wheezed fearfully, gaping at the man who had pulled me up and left me standing bewildered beside Bronwe at the outer edge of our temporary camp.

He went on around his own horse, not facing me, and said, "One of our lookouts has seen a group of Dunlendings coming this way on foot. Their number could not overwhelm us, but Halbarad prefers not to lie here in waiting for them."

I was instantly awake, and a pit opened in my stomach. Shivering, I looked up at the atmosphere, which I saw had filled with low, haggard clouds sometime during the morning, and all traces of the sun were blocked out. The wind had picked up, also, and it whipped around us, mercilessly tearing at our clothes and hair.

"Will you fight them?"

"Nay, that is too great a danger, Milady," the man said, motioning me up onto my pony. "Our hope lies in secrecy, not in battle — therefore we must fly."

He hurried away, and I had to swallow the other questions that had been perched at the tip of my tongue. Pulling myself onto Bronwe, I patted the part of her strong neck that I could reach. "I suppose you're ready for another long day, right, Bronwe?"

Shifting to the side, I searched the small hollow for Halbarad or the sons of Elrond, but they were nowhere to be found. The Men were before me, hurriedly repacking stores and speaking in low tones to one another, and my friends were not among them. With a grimace I turned the other way to look behind me, but I still could not locate them.

_Wait a second_ — was that a member of our company standing at the crest of the hill at our backs? I peered harder at the unknown figure, confused to see something I did not recognize. The feeble, cold daylight of the obscured sun made my eyes tear, but from what I could perceive, the person silhouetted against the cloudy sky seemed wider and bushier than any of the Dúnedain, and it was most certainly not Elrohir or Elladan.

I blanched.

Just as I wheeled Bronwe about to call for help, a cruel, roughly wrought spear streaked by my left leg and embedded itself in the ground beside me. "Help!" I screamed, and a rider nearby, who had been tending to his horse, leapt into the open and hastily began fitting his bow with an arrow, meeting my gaze questioningly.

"Up there!" I shouted to him, pointing to the hilltop.

Spotting the intruder still clambering along the ridge, the man quickly loosed his bow, and the Dunlending did not have time to react. He fell with an arrow in his chest.

Halbarad, Elladan, and Elrohir reappeared at the sound of my cry from behind the opposite hill, and they found me trembling fitfully in my saddle, shaken by such a close call. Seeing the dead Dunlending, Halbarad laughed and gave my arm a squeeze, saying, "Perhaps you should be left more often to watch over our camps, Lady Jorryn."

"No — no thank you," I answered him, hugging myself to stop from shivering.

The slain Wild Man had been the only one close enough to threaten the safety of our company, and he was discovered to be a scout. We set out immediately; Halbarad kept us nearly at a gallop for a good part of the day, holding to his promise that we would get only one rest. The hills and grasslands all went by as a sickly blur of green, brown, and gray, and we were forced round westward by woodlands at the bases of the Misty Mountains. Beyond that familiar range, I could barely make out, through the haze rising from Isengard, the White Mountains of Rohan and Gondor. A light, steady drizzle began to fall, curtaining us in mist and shadow, and I pulled my hood over my eyes, though it was soon as damp as the rest of me and did little good.

Night fell, but I was too tired to realize that our fourth day away from Rivendell had ended, and we had come nearer to the Gap of Rohan than I realized. Halbarad had led us to an overgrown road, and we rode at an uncomfortable trot, skirting the foothills and forests to one side. I was told that we had well escaped the reach of the Dunlendings, and we would receive no more trouble from them.

Everyone around me was alert for any signs of riders on the road. The rain soon stopped, yet I was still wet and exhausted and hungry, and as I munched dully on a broken piece of dry bread, I found myself squinting into the heavens in search of Menelvagor. But he had left the skies that night — he was wrapped in the innumerable blankets of brume and dark. The moon was the only one to escape the clouds, and it filled the cloudy sky with pale, bitter light, soaring up from the east.

"Merry… Pippin… it's too bad old Orion isn't out tonight, isn't it?" I murmured to my friends, wherever they were in the wide world. I released a huge sigh, crunching on my biscuit dissatisfiedly.

Hearing me, Elrohir leaned over and whispered, "Have courage, Mistadiel. We are nearing the Fords of Isen, and we soon will pass the Wizard's Vale."

I was surprised at his unexpected news, and I hissed back hurriedly, "I'm sorry — where are we now?"

"On the old North-South Road," he returned, "which is still used in northern lands as the better-kept Greenway."

"We've left Dunland, then," I guessed confusedly. I was still trying to get my bearings — I felt dizzy enough as it was, from lack of sleep, and I kicked myself for being too weary to even understand what he was saying. I felt as if weights had been attached to my brow, dragging my head down, and my throat hurt, among other things. I was unkempt and dirty and cold, in no mood to meet a king or his company of riders just yet. I rubbed at my eyes, staring fiercely at the blurry shadow that was Elrohir.

He chuckled, "Yes, Mistadiel, we have left Enedwaith behind us."

He succeeded in only furthering my confusion, because I had not ever heard the name "Enedwaith" used to describe Hollin and Dunland. I was just about to ask Elrohir what on earth he meant, but I was broken off — all sounds were unexpectedly smothered by a great shadow that appeared in the sky, and the moon was blotted out, and my heart quailed at the skull-splitting cry that suddenly splintered the stillness of the night.

_Nazgûl_.

There was a horrific winged beast above us, flying northward with a deadly speed, enveloping the heavens with its terrible black wings. I was brought with a dreadful wrench back to Weathertop, where I could still hear Frodo's pain-ridden screams and feel the unbearable grip of the Ringwraith's hand about my neck. All around me, the men ducked their heads, and the horses became frantic; only Elladan and Elrohir were still, staring up into the sky rigid as stone.

With a scream that made us cover our heads in dread, the Winged Shadow wheeled and passed away. It had gone, and I was left huddled halfway out of my saddle against Bronwe's mane, numb fear coursing through me like poison.

"The Nazgûl have crossed the River," Elrohir said dully.

"We must ride!" shouted Halbarad, his voice firm despite the echoing screams of the Nazgûl. "Do not delay!"

I struggled to sit upright again, chilled to the core with a terror that I had not known since Amon Sûl. Why had I not remembered that the Nazgûl would make an appearance before we reached Rohan? Had it even been mentioned in the books? _That's a dumb question_, I thought, for I was sure it must have been, but I was too dismayed to think about it for long.

"This is not your first meeting with a messenger of the Enemy," said Elladan perceptively, observing my pallid face and wide eyes. I could not answer him aloud, so I just nodded jerkily, and the Elf bowed his head. "_A Elbereth, si tolo! Boe ammen veriad lîn_," he said to himself.

He was shushed by a nearby rider, and suddenly I was aware of the faint sound of rushing water ahead. Halbarad said quietly, "The River Isen is before us, now."

I was finally struck with how much those words meant. They meant that I would get to see at least one of my hobbits again, and that I would be in the presence of King Théoden, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and the other heroes of Helm's Deep. I needed them now more than ever, especially since I had received such a sharp reminder of how dangerous the wilds were.

"We are many leagues from Isengard, Milady," Halbarad continued to me, riding ahead of Bronwe, "but there is no harm in passing through Saruman's lands unobserved. The White Wizard's eyes are keen, and we must be swift and silent."

The road drew under the cover of a thickly wooded grove, and almost everything was in complete darkness. Halbarad and the twins were like shrouded ghosts floating on the path in front of me, with shreds of pearly light streaking their cloaks and the flanks of their horses. The river's playful murmuring grew steadily louder and closer, yet I saw no moonlight reflected off bubbling water until I was aware, many minutes after entering the wood, of the dank soil under our horses' hooves changing to grating gravel. We were at the Fords of Isen.

The river was wide but flowed slowly, and it was not deep where the ford had been made between stepping-stones. Both banks were fairly steep, but the horses picked safe ways across the pebbles and water. Our road sloped down among the rising turf-hills that rolled back and upward into the woods on either brink and stretched into shadow between tree trunks. There was a small, bare islet at the center of the river, and when we reached it, I could tell that there was a burial mound built there, circled about with stones and spears.

"There was a battle here," said Halbarad, "and in yonder mound lie the brave Men of the Mark that were slain by the Enemy." He said nothing more, but he spurred his horse onward, and the rest of us followed at a faster pace to climb the other bank.

I shoved my sodden hood away from my face and leaned first forward, then rearward to stretch the aching muscles in my neck and back. We came out from under the cover of the trees into the still night, and hooves crunched over dead leaves and branches on the road. I strained my ears for other sounds that would hint of anyone else near us, but beyond the occasional snap of a twig or the deep, snorting breath of a horse, there was nothing. A passing cloud covered the moon, and we were blanketed in brief gloom.

We had not been long from the fords, and I was beginning to grow worried, when we were brought to a stop by a sudden shout that rang out from somewhere in front of us:

"Halt! Who rides in Rohan?"

To hear a voice so commanding and strong in the dead of night, after encountering a Nazgûl and being silent for such a length of time, was terrifying. I slapped a hand over my mouth to smother a screech. Halbarad waved to me for silence and jerked his mount to a stop, then slipped agilely to the ground. I held my breath, watching his outline become more indistinct as he walked forward to meet whoever had called. I could not tell from where I sat the number of the group ahead — I only saw a darker shadow far away against the gloomy landscape.

"Rohan?" Halbarad cried back. "Rohan? We have ridden for that land in haste."

"You have arrived," came the reply, without a second's hesitation. "When you crossed the waters you entered its borders. But it is the realm of Théoden the King — none enter here without his leave. Who are you?"

"I am Halbarad, a Ranger of the North," the Ranger said, in front of me. "We seek Aragorn, son of Arathorn."

A tall figure swiftly broke away from the unfamiliar company and ran to Halbarad, embracing him like a brother. "You have found him!"

_Aragorn!_ I gripped the reins, feeling a jolt of stabbing recognition, and I was compelled to dismount, my heart fluttering gleefully in my chest. The friends that I had wished so long to see again were on the road, a mere fifty paces away, and I wanted to run to them, I wanted to bury my face in Merry's matted hair and see Aragorn's shining eyes…

"This is an unexpected joy, Halbarad," Aragorn went on happily. I saw him turn to the riders of Rohan to inform them, "All is well! Here are some of my own kin."

Halbarad, gesturing back toward us, said, "I have thirty with me — that is all of our kindred that could be gathered in haste — but the brethren Elladan and Elrohir have ridden with us, desiring to go to the war."

"That is more than I could have hoped," Aragorn said.

I wondered why he had not mentioned me, and I almost complained at being so clearly excluded; I stopped, however, when I saw Halbarad glance over his shoulder at me a second later and add, "Also among us is a Lady of the Shire, who wished to leave the sanctuary of Rivendell to see her friends once more."

There was a moment of silence, and I did not move or speak — were they angry? Did they not want me there, hindering them? I could sense their confusion and curiosity, which practically crackled in the wide space separating us.

But then, a very tiny, polite cough came to me, followed by a tentative question from a smaller rider of King Théoden's group. "Excuse me, Milord, but do you mean the Lady Jorryn?"

It was too much to hear that small, sweet voice, and I hastily freed my feet from my stirrups and flung myself off Bronwe, shouting, "Merry!"

The hobbit met me halfway between our two companies, and I flew into his arms before anyone could question my being there. He spun me about, smelling wild, like soil and grass, his curls soft against my cheek and his laughter like music in my ear. This was what I had longed for, had dreamt of, for weeks and weeks, and now that I was finally with one of my dear hobbits again, I never wanted him to let me go.

"Jo," he gasped, planting an affectionate kiss on my temple, "this is the most wonderful surprise of all!"

"It's so good to finally see you, Merry," I said, reveling in the strength and tenderness of his embrace.

The hobbit held me out, squinting to see me through the veil of darkness between us. Bubbling over with my love for him, I observed his rounded nose and jaw, his narrow sparkling eyes, and bright hair. Yes, this was my adorable Brandybuck.

"Merry — " I began to gush, but I was cut off by an abrupt awareness that something in my friend had changed. I frowned, suddenly realizing that I had to look _up_ to meet his gaze, and my mouth opened in blatant disbelief.

"What is it?" he asked worriedly.

"Merry Brandybuck, you're taller than me!" I yelped, pointing at his head, which was an unbelievable number of inches above mine — at least one and a half, maybe even two.

As if just becoming conscious it himself, the hobbit patted his brow and rocked back and forth on his heels smugly, his eyes gleaming. "Yes, it seems so, doesn't it?" He waved his hand above me, wiggling his fingers in a manner that suggested our height difference was caused by a disappearance from the top of my skull. I could not believe it, and I simply continued to gawp incredulously at him.

"But you're — you're so _tall_, Merry!" I repeated, wondering if the change was made more drastic in the dim light.

He grinned proudly. "Well, Pippin and I spent some time with the Ents, Jo, and they've got strange victuals. Gimli says that we couldn't go drinking ent-draughts and expect no more to come of them than a pot of beer."

"And he is right, of course," growled the Dwarf crustily, at our backs. I discerned his squat shape as it tipped into a bow, and he greeted, "Welcome to you, Lady Jorryn of the Shire."

"Hello, Master Dwarf," I giggled back. "Is Legolas there as well?"

"I am here, Mistadiel," the Elf said, calling from Gimli's elbow, "and it is a great wonder to find you in Rohan among the Dúnedain."

"I think everyone feels that way," Meriadoc put in. After a moment he gave me a crooked smile, nodded approvingly, and said, "But enough about that — you've gone on about my curious growth, but what about yourself, Jo? You really are an astonishing sight to someone who has missed you for so long."

I glanced down self-consciously, having forgotten that I was wearing borrowed Elvish clothing. I had become accustomed to it in Rivendell, but to Merry, who had seen me mostly in the dresses made for me in Hobbiton, I must have looked strange. I smoothed the deep plum velvet cloth of my surcoat over the layers of my lighter purple gown beneath, and Merry fingered the flared, overlong outer sleeve trailing from my right arm as I tugged at the silver buttons lining my front. "I didn't have any proper riding outfits," I tried to explain, "so I took some of Arwen's discarded things."

The Brandybuck smirked mischievously and said, "Jo, you know you'd look perfectly fine even if you were to show up in a cave troll skin — but I'd be so glad to see you, I probably wouldn't notice."

I laughed, unable to contain my delight. "You're impossible, Meriadoc."

Turning at last to Aragorn, I grinned up at him abashedly. The man knelt beside me, and a look of bewilderment and joy played across his handsome features. He was still the Ranger that I remembered, the same rugged, unshaven, and grimy Dúnadan of Bree, clad in dirty garments and mail. There was only one thing different about him: a green stone flashed at his chest, which I had not seen him bear before. Examining it closer, I saw that the jewel was set in a silver brooch, which was fashioned into the shape of an eagle with widespread wings. I found out later that this was the Elfstone, given to him by Galadriel in Lothlórien, and was the source of his title, _Elessar_.

"I never hoped to meet you again this soon, Mistadiel — especially not on the road!" Aragorn said, laying his hands upon my shoulders and drawing my attention back to the present. The kindness that I recalled so well was obvious in his words and his touch. "This is a strange night, indeed!"

"We departed the moment your summons came," explained Halbarad, stepping near.

Aragorn looked to his companion without rising, and he said, "My thoughts have often turned to you, yet I sent no word. But all such matters must wait, I fear." Strider, smiling to me once more, smoothed stray curls away from my face with a brush of his fingers before pushing himself up. "We must make haste. Ride with us now, brothers, if the king will allow it."

"It is well," acquiesced a member of the Rohirrim. I could not make out much of his countenance, but the man's tone was deep and rich, and for some reason reminded me of thick, fertile earth — and thus I always likened King Théoden, son of Thengel, to the lush lands of his country. The king went on, satisfied, "If these kinsmen are in any way like yourself, Aragorn, thirty will be a strength that cannot be reckoned."

"Thank you, sire," said Halbarad, bowing low.

Aragorn called for his horse and walked with Merry, Halbarad, and me back to the Dúnedain. "I don't suppose you could be troubled with an extra piece of baggage, Jo?" wondered Merry lightheartedly. "I daresay Aragorn's gotten tired of carrying me about on Hasufel."

"And I guess if you rode with me, you'd want to have control of my pony, since you have grown so much — then I would be reduced to _your _baggage," I said, smacking him playfully on his arm.

Aragorn chuckled and picked up the Brandybuck easily, setting him high atop Hasufel in his saddle. "You shall ride with me a little while longer, Meriadoc, and I will not be bothered."

"Aragorn," said Halbarad, "Hasufel will only have to carry you as far as our next camp. We have brought Roheryn to you from the north, on behalf of the Lady of Rivendell."

Strider laughed cheerily at the news. "It seems that I will feel nothing but joy tonight."

I heaved myself onto Bronwe, all thoughts of my previous exhaustion and discomfort flown from my head, and Aragorn, mounting Hasufel nearby, watched me twist the reins between my fingers. His gaze fell on the hidden banner fastened next to my leg, still furled in its black cloth.

"What is that that you bear, Jorryn?" he asked.

Arwen had given me a very specific message to say to Aragorn regarding her present, and I struggled to excavate it from my memory. Touching the long, exposed shaft of the standard, I replied, "It's a gift that I bring to you from Arwen Undómiel. She asked me to give you this word: _The days are now short. Either our hope cometh, or all hopes end. Therefore I send thee what I have made for thee_." I coughed awkwardly, the speech sounding unconvincing when it came from me. "It was made in secret during the long months after your departure from Imladris."

"Now I know what you bear," said Aragorn, "and I ask that you bear it for me a while longer."

Aragorn rode behind with the Dúnedain for most of what remained of the night, and Merry and I were able to talk of things that had passed in our time apart while the man conversed with Halbarad about happenings in the North. The hobbit told me of the Fellowship's journey from Rivendell, their passage through the Mines of Moria, and their coming to Lórien. He had much to say about Galadriel and the conduct of the Elves of the Golden Wood, and he kept me giggling with all the tiny facts he had managed to remember: the condition of the soil in Lothlórien, or what he had eaten for breakfast just before leaving there, for example. But when his tale came to Parth Galen and the breaking of the Fellowship, his mood turned somber, and he said little regarding Pippin's and his being captured by Saruman's band of Uruk-hai.

"They gave me a nice bash on the head," he remarked dismally, "and I've still got the scar to prove it."

The story of meeting Treebeard and traveling to the Entmoot was considerably happier, and Merry spent several minutes trying to describe the Ents to me in detail — but he was forced to eventually give up, floundering for the right words. "Pip had the perfect way of saying it, but I'm afraid I've already forgotten the whole thing," Merry said, shrugging, and he looked at me closely. "You know, it really is a shame that you and these riders showed up as late as you did… if you'd come just a couple of hours sooner, you wouldn't have missed Gandalf and our dear Master Peregrin. They took off for Minas Tirith just before we crossed the fords."

"It is a shame," I agreed, though I had known in my heart that I would not see them until much later.

Untroubled, Merry asked, "Anyway, what do you think of King Théoden, Jo? He seemed a very nice fellow when Pip and I met him at Isengard, and he knew more about Hobbits than any Man I've met so far in these territories. He says that I am to sit with him and tell him all about the Shire once we get the chance."

"I haven't had an opportunity to really meet him, yet," I admitted, and Aragorn, overhearing our conversation, twisted around to us.

"We shall have to remedy that," the Ranger said. "Will you come forward with me now to ride alongside the Lord of the Mark, Mistadiel?"

I wanted to stay with Merry more than I wanted to encounter King Théoden in my present state of disarray, but since Merry was currently with Strider and Strider was moving to the head of our procession, I went with him. We galloped quickly by the Rohirrim, all of whom carried tall spears and wore helms that glinted gold and silver in the moonlight. The king was riding with his other Men of the Mark, and Legolas and Gimli were nearby on one horse.

Aragorn felt it was necessary to give me a proper introduction after we reached the front. "My lord," he said to the king, "this is Jorryn, a Lady of the Shire, a gallant friend who has been counted among Halflings, Men, and Elves."

The man faced me, and I caught my breath, seeing up close for the first time King Théoden of Rohan. He sat tall and straight on a snowy-white horse, his flaxen hair cut above his broad shoulders, a beard of the same color clipped close around his thin mouth and chin. There was no disguising his age — many deep lines occupied the spaces under and between his dark eyes — but he appeared strong, clothed in armor and carrying a sword at his side.

"M-my lord," I stammered, taken aback by his regal appearance.

He angled forward, bowing to me slightly. "The ways of the Holbytlan and the Elves are strange, Lady Jorryn," he said amusedly over the noise of hoofbeats. "I did not know that races other than the Men of Rohan sent shieldmaidens to cheer those going to war."

Blushing a vibrant pink, I shook my head and said, "I am no shieldmaiden, my lord."

The king smiled a little and revealed to me the dimples that had been hiding within his weathered cheeks, and he said, "Whatever you be and regardless of the reason for your coming, Milady, we are glad to have you in our midst. The men have been heartened by your arrival."

"Thank you very much, my lord," I mumbled embarrassedly, and the king turned to address someone who had called to him.

Aragorn saw my pleasure at having been received so well, and his mouth quirked contentedly. He nodded toward the soldier at Théoden's other side and asked me, "Do you know any others of this company? That is Éomer, son of Éomund, the nephew of Théoden and Third Marshal of the Riddermark, riding at the king's right hand. Long has he labored to keep the East-mark of Rohan safe against the shadows rising from Mordor and Isengard."

I craned my neck to see him. Éomer was square-jawed and muscular, clad in Rohirric gear of war, his long, fair hair flying back from his face as he rode. Deep hues of red and silver shone on his leather chest plate, pauldrons, and vambraces over a shirt of clean, bright mail, and I caught a flash of his dark eyes when he looked back over the great group which he led.

"You will know them both better before the end comes, Jorryn," Aragorn said.

I soon learned that we were making for Helm's Deep, where my friends had recently won a great battle against the dark forces of both Isengard and Dunland. There was only a faint gesture of a bleak dawn in the east when we reached the valley, but I had not had any rest for so long that my first recollections of the great coomb were muddled. I could always remember a stone rampway leading up to a broken gate, the mighty Deeping Wall stretching to the other end of the Deeping-coomb at our left, and then gray ramparts rising up on all sides of us after we entered the refuge. I saw the tower, the Hornburg, rising into the pale sky amid smoke and haze, and I heard the clatter of work being done somewhere below on battered walls.

"Take a few hours of sleep here!" shouted Théoden to his riders, and, rattling up a long stairway into the Burg, all dismounted.

I managed to untie my saddlebags and Arwen's gift and then cling to them sleepily, using the pole of the banner to support my drooping weight. Merry and I stood apart from the rest before the entrance of the Hornburg, unsure of where to go in this vast, foreign place, and we remained there until Aragorn discovered us staring dazedly down into the wide plain that extended for miles without break in every direction from our vantage point.

"You are looking out upon the Westfold, my friends," he told us, "but it will be much more impressive in the full daylight."

Gently, the man steered us into the citadel, under arched doorways and around tables and pillars, until we reached a corner of a weakly lit hall. Banners decorated the walls and rugs were placed in many places across the flagstone floor between benches and chairs; the figures that the cloths depicted seemed to dance in the frail torchlight. Aragorn took my gear from my arms and laid Arwen's concealed standard on the ground, digging out blankets from the depths of my bags.

"You will rest here for awhile," he said, spreading my blankets across the stones.

Merry, having enough sense to find his own sleeping things as well, blinked at Aragorn and asked, "Will you not have any sleep, yourself?"

The Ranger shook his head and stood, a hand on his sword. "There are many things that I have to consider before the break of day, Meriadoc."

With that, Aragorn swept away, and I fell pathetically onto my makeshift bed, forgetting to thank him. Merry plopped down close to me, making a mess of the blankets that Aragorn had just prepared. The hobbit wrapped his coverlet around both of us, yawning into my ear and settling himself comfortably at my side. "Old Strider is as close as he ever was, isn't he, Jo?" he heaved, sounding far away already.

"Yes, he is," I said groggily, but I could not help grinning as I slipped away into my dreams, feeling Merry Brandybuck's warm, reassuring body next to mine.


	33. In Rohan

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own any of Tolkien's characters or the world he created. The only character of mine (Jorryn) has decided to take a holiday in Tolkien's Middle-earth. No copyright infringement on any of J. R. R. Tolkien's works is intended.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Finally... I present to you all a new chapter of _Time Will Tell_. :) I decided to go ahead and post it now, because I don't know when I will get the chance to write again anytime soon. Thanks, as always, to everyone who reviews. In this chapter, Jorryn gets to know several people better, including the King of Rohan. Please enjoy!

_1. _**Rainne** — Ack, I'm so sorry to have confused you. Yes, I am following the books, not the movies. In the book, Gandalf and Pippin and Aragorn never go to Edoras with the Rohirrim. Everyone splits up right after they go to Isengard and come upon Merry and Pippin, which _is _at the beginning of the film. Pippin looks into the _palantír _at the camp that night, and Gandalf, realizing the hobbit has endangered the whole group, takes him immediately to Minas Tirith. The Dúnedain, who were cut completely from the film, meet the Rohirrim shortly after midnight, and that is where Jorryn managed to wheedle her way into the story again. From there, Aragorn and his company go with King Théoden to Helm's Deep; Aragorn looks into the _palantír _and makes his decision to take the Paths of the Dead. He leaves Helm's Deep with the Dúnedain and takes the fast way to Dunharrow (the refuge you see in the film), while King Théoden takes the slower mountain ways and arrives there after Aragorn and the others have already gone. Dunharrow is where the Rohirrim are mustering for the next battle, which is, as Rainne guessed, the Battle of Pelennor Fields. I hope that helps, at least a little. :)

_2. _**Will Jo ride to battle?** Well, **Gwedhwen**, **Faye**, and anyone else who is wondering, I recall being threatened a while back by **Rabble**... _If Jo stupidly takes off into the middle of a war, I'll paint her Urple_. I would hate for that to happen. :D At any rate, I've become quite fond of Jorryn, and I know that if she rode to Gondor, she would be swiftly removed from this fanfiction. I'm sorry... thank you so much for your reviews, and I hope you continue to enjoy the story.

**32**

I had slept for only a few unsatisfying hours when I felt Merry stir beside me and heard voices going back and forth softly above my head. I was, for a moment, unable to remember where I was or what I had been doing before falling asleep, but then I remembered the happenings of the night before — Merry's embrace and his wonderful, lilting voice, Aragorn's sparkling eyes, the king's kind words — and I sat up, blinking dazedly in the daylight streaming into the Hornburg through its yawning entryway.

Merry was propped up on his elbows next to me, looking up at Legolas and Gimli standing over us, and he smiled once I was alert enough to notice him. "Good morning, Jo," he said cheerily, giving me a lopsided grin.

I glanced about from the corner of the room where we had rested. We were in the main hall of the Hornburg, in a chamber constructed completely of rough gray stone, and now that I could see it in the sunlight, I realized that the place was fairly empty. Crudely hewn pillars rose from the floor to the high ceiling here and there; on their curving surfaces, torches were attached. There were a few benches and chairs decorated with animal skins, arched passageways leading to other parts of the citadel, and narrow windows set so high within the walls that no man could look through them, but other than these and the banners I had seen the night before, the room was bare.

"Did you manage to get any rest, Mistadiel?" asked Legolas amusedly, smiling down on me, his Elvish bow propped up before him. He rested with his chin perched atop his curving weapon, and the radiance from outside played in his golden hair and brilliant blue stare. Gimli peered at me from the Elf's elbow, his rust-colored braids and ruddy complexion visible below the hilt of a dagger strapped to Legolas's hip.

"Yes, thank you," I groaned, and I stretched my aching body. "What time is it?"

"It's not nearly late enough in the morning," snorted Merry. "These two refused to believe that I would prefer sleep over a tour of this place, but they insisted that we be up along with everyone else. Where is the king, and where is Aragorn, I would like to know?"

"They have been up much longer than you have, Master Merry," grunted the Dwarf. "The king has duties here, and Aragorn has been all morning in a high chamber of the Burg."

"He went some hours ago," added Legolas, "saying that he must think, and only his kinsman, Halbarad, went with him — but some dark doubt rests on him."

Gimli's beady gaze fell on me, and his eyes glittered like two black stones. "They are a strange company, these newcomers," he said. "The Riders of Rohan look almost like boys beside them, for they are grim, silent men."

"But even like Aragorn, they are courteous when they do speak," said Legolas.

Rubbing at my tender neck muscles, I smiled up at them both. I wondered if the other men were talking like this of our company, and whether or not I was included in any of their conversations. "They are exactly as you say," I agreed, standing and clasping my cloak around my shoulders.

"But — why have you come?" asked Merry, who was still on the ground, buttoning his vest over a stained tunic. "I don't think I ever really heard, Jo, and I forgot to ask you before I fell asleep."

"The Dúnedain were summoned from Rivendell, and they came," I said with a shrug.

"But who sent this summons, they do not know," said Gimli, his gloved fingers curled over the wide belt across his stomach. "Gandalf sent it, I would guess."

"No, Galadriel," Legolas disagreed.

As I pulled Merry to his feet, Gimli nodded and said, "Yes, you must be right — the Lady of the Wood must have read Aragorn's desires. We should have wished for some of our own kin, eh, Legolas?"

Sorrow passed over the Elf's countenance like a cloud, and he confessed, "I do not think that any would come, my friend."

Gimli gave a gentle grunt, his eyes slipping to the flagstones under our feet, and Merry shifted uncomfortably next to me. After a few moments, the hobbit cleared his throat and pushed me toward the doors leading out of the Burg, saying, "You said there was a battle here three days ago, Gimli? I should like to see all that there is in this place, if you are still willing to show me."

We walked out of the Hornburg into the glaring sunlight that poured over the wide gallery and the ramparts protecting it. Everything around us was rough and worn and crude, as the hall had been, and when I glanced back over my shoulder to see the face of the Burg, I realized how closely the fortress was built into the crumbling rock of the mountainside. The arms of the craggy cliff faces were wrapped around the entrance to the Hornburg and atop the archways leading down into lower levels of the coomb's fortifications, and I could hardly tell where the castle's walls started and the mountain ended. Before us, helmed men lined the walls with spears, and beyond them was the breathtaking expanse of the Westfold.

I gaped at the vastness of the lands which stretched out before us. Helm's Deep had been built into the very corner of a great valley, the Deeping-coomb, but the endless fields and rolling hills went far past the embrace of the coomb, on and on in every direction until they were halted by the Misty Mountains in the north and the White Mountains in the south. The sun was high and the sky was clear, and I almost felt I could go soaring on the wind to the snow-capped peaks on the distant horizon. Noises of work being done on stone and the voices of men echoed up to us from lower chambers.

"As we told Master Meriadoc," thundered Gimli to me over the clamor, "there was a battle here three nights ago." We walked down a flight of long steps and reached a protected balcony overlooking the valley, and Gimli pointed to the enormous Deeping Wall, which reached completely across the gorge. "The wall was breached the first time in its history by Saruman's orcs, and work is being done now to repair the Dike."

I peered down and saw those who were laboring near a culvert in a demolished part of the wall. There were men in the open fields, too, on the other side, piling the bodies of the dead and burning them. The bonfires threw unpleasant black smoke into the atmosphere.

We left the balcony and went further down into the garrison until walls towered up on all sides. I felt the eyes of the men burning into my back long after we went by them; wounded soldiers whispered in a language that I did not understand to the friends who tended to their injuries, and I heard the word _Holbytla_ uttered several times.

"I suppose you already know about Boromir," Merry murmured up to me as we reached the shattered remains of the main gate and began the long walk down the rampway sloping down into the valley. Legolas and Gimli led, speaking to each other of things that had happened during their battle, the Dwarf pointing out several times where he had killed most of his Orcs.

"Yes, I know what happened," I answered the hobbit gently, "and I am sorry now that I didn't get to know him better during the time he spent in Rivendell."

"And Gandalf, too? You know about him?"

"Yes," I said, smiling slightly, more than happy not to dwell on Boromir's death. I remembered telling Lord Elrond once that though Gandalf had fallen, he was not lost, and I had been right — Gandalf the Grey had returned to Middle-earth as Gandalf the White, attending to his unfinished business.

"I don't understand it," Meriadoc said, under his breath and with a shake of his curly head. "Not one bit of it — how you know everything, or why any of it happened, or anything else."

"Well, word travels quickly to Rivendell, and Lord Elrond's eyes reach far," I said. "And you could not expect Gandalf to leave you all with so much work still left to be done, could you?"

Legolas bent his focus backward, over his shoulder and downward to us, and he asked me, "No, we could not, Mistadiel. But nor could we expect to have you ride to our aid during war and destruction."

"Yes, Lady Jo," said Gimli, dropping back a pace to walk with us, "what has brought you from the North with the Dúnedain?"

I shrugged, saying, "It was my wish to be nearer to my friends and help the people of Rohan in whatever way I could."

"But — are you no longer sought by the Enemy?" Gimli rumbled, his eyes darting about the immediate area in search of eavesdroppers. "Or have you come with tidings that will aid us in these dark times, perhaps?"

"My only message was for Aragorn, and it was from the Lady Arwen," I said, and my cheeks flushed.

The Dwarf gave a disappointed grunt, his shoulders slumping. "It is a shame, indeed, Milady, for we are in need of hope more than ever, now that we are coming to the end."

"Do not place such despair on Mistadiel's shoulders — she carries enough already," reprimanded Legolas sternly. "Her knowledge is not for you to share."

My face was burning from the sting in Gimli's words and the frustration in every line of his short form. I met the Dwarf's gaze, searching briefly for the right thing to say and remembering Elrond's numerous warnings, and then replied feebly, "I _can_ offer hope to you, though. I have always had faith in the Fellowship and in the Ring-bearer — I have trusted to your strengths this far, and I still do. What more could you wish me to do that would not break all the promises I've made to Elrond and Gandalf and Frodo?"

Catching the pleading notes in my tone, Gimli smiled, and the sharp shine of his eyes dulled to a gentle glimmer. He said, "I could wish for nothing more, Milady."

We came to the wide plain extending from the Deeping-coomb, where the scars of battle still marred the flattened grass and churned earth. There was a huge, stony hill there, standing black and tall at the feet of the cliffs, and Legolas took us on a path far from it, saying that evil rested there. I trailed behind Merry, my skirts catching at the tall wiry grass, and in my heart I felt a lingering pain that I had brought upon myself by being so foolish as to mention Frodo. I thought of the Baggins and of Sam and Pippin, three innocent little hobbits fighting against the Enemy so far away from where I stood on the Westfold with Merry, Legolas, and Gimli.

I blew a sigh, concentrating up at the back of Merry's head. I could be happy, at least, that I was with my Brandybuck in Rohan, even if I knew we would eventually be parted again. I wasn't sure what I would do when I was once more left to myself in some foreign environment, alone while my friends were riding for battle, and I wasn't really willing to think about it then.

I focused back on what Gimli and Legolas were saying and felt a tinge of guilt, for I had not been listening at all to what they had been speaking to us about. They were describing to Merry the advance of the Dunlendings and Uruk-hai, how such enemies had breached the Deeping-wall, and their flight in the early morning when Erkenbrand and Gandalf the White and King Théoden rode upon their great host.

"And there the Hornburg still stands, untouched by any enemy to this day," finished Legolas, turning to look back at the castle of rock behind us. "The Men of Rohan are a gallant people."

It was midday by the time we returned to the Burg for the afternoon meal. The main hall, which we had left vacant that morning after waking, was now furnished with a long table running down the center of the wide space. Assorted benches and chairs had been pulled up to the board and crowded together around silver goblets and plates, and I immediately saw that many were already seated. The air was thick with heat and the smell of ale and the roar of men's voices.

"Master Holbytla!" came a shout from the head of the table, and my eyes fell on King Théoden, who was beckoning to Merry and offering a seat directly at his side. He stood tall, free of his armor and instead dressed in tunics of deep red, elaborate gold brocade at his neck, shoulders, and waist flashing in the sun. I searched briefly for Aragorn or any of the Dúnedain, but I could not find them amid the many Rohirrim.

"It is not what I wished," Théoden continued to Merry as we approached, "but we can sit and speak together here. And perhaps one day, we will meet again at the high table in Meduseld. For now, we will eat and drink, and then you shall ride with me."

"May I?" cried Merry, his eyebrows jumping up in amazement. He scuttled forward eagerly, but I remained standing behind a soldier whose head was wrapped with a stained bandage. Merry sat down in the seat that had been brought for him, saying, "I am afraid I am only in everybody's way."

"Do not fear that," the king said, and I stepped back from the table. Legolas and Gimli did not hesitate to take two of the few empty spots near the king, but I stopped, none too willing to force two gritty, unfamiliar men to make room for me between them. I peered up and down the table, watching the soldiers bow over their food and speak in their own tongue to friends nearby, laughter bursting from some groups every other moment. Théoden had taken to his chair again, and he was leaning toward Merry, a smile on his noble face. The hobbit was talking animatedly, already reaching for a mug of ale, his eyes bright.

This was a scene I thought would be better if left alone, unpolluted by my awkwardness and lack of charm; Merry's time with the king had come, and I did not dare to impose my presence at such a vital point in the Story. I moved away, unnoticed, drawing back to the edges of the hall and retreating to the place where I had slept, finding my things exactly as I had left them beside Merry's. Observing from there, I sat on the blankets and ate what was left of my stores, and when a man passed with a tray of fruits, I managed to get a good portion of what he carried before he reached the table. Munching on an apple, I could hear, faintly, what was being said.

"I have had a pony prepared for you," King Théoden told Merry, "and we will ride from the Burg by mountain paths. We will reach Edoras by way of Dunharrow, where the Lady Éowyn awaits me. You shall be my esquire. Is there any gear, Éomer, that my new sword-thain could use?"

I leaned to the side, straining to see the nephew of the king around an obscuring pillar. Éomer had not shed any of his gear of war but the helm he had worn the night before, and now I could look at his countenance uncovered. He was handsome and stern, with a hard, dark gaze and firm lips. "There are no great weapon stores here, my lord," he replied to the king. "We have no mail or sword that would suit him."

I could just see Merry's curls over the shoulder of another man when the hobbit leapt from his chair and drew the sword that he had been given at the barrow. "I have a sword," he said, and as I watched, I saw him kneel before the king (hadn't he knelt before me in a like manner, once, long ago in the Shire?) and say timidly, "Receive my service, if you will."

I grinned, loving my dear friend, and Théoden reached down to the Brandybuck, who I could not see behind the table. "I will take it gladly, Master Holbytla. Rise now, Meriadoc, esquire of Rohan."

My stomach gave an odd jerk.

My hunger was at least temporarily satisfied, so I left the men to their meal and went in search of bathwater and a place of privacy in which I could change into my cleaner garments. However, I discovered the Hornburg to be a labyrinth of passageways and halls, and it was long before I came to one of the king's men and asked him if a basin of water could be spared. The man took me to an unoccupied room just off the king's personal chambers, ordered a small tub to be fetched, and then bowed himself out, latching the large door behind him.

Quickly, I scrubbed the grime from my face and pulled grass from my tangled braids, peeling myself out of my dress and dipping my sore arms one at a time into the basin brought for me. Once I was fairly clean, I folded away my first outfit and brought out a second. There was not much to choose from, since I had packed nothing light and airy like the clothes I had worn in Rivendell — all I had were thick velvet, fine leather, or crinkled silks made to withstand long travel.

I dressed in a close-fitting underdress, dark blue in color, over riding pants and my Dwarven boots. The two-piece sleeves of my gown were of typical Elvish design, fitting snugly from the shoulder to the elbow, and slit open at the inside of the forearm to fall loosely away over tighter undersleeves. I donned a navy surcoat to complete the outfit, struggling briefly with the lacing in the back before attempting to redo the braids in my hair.

Satisfied with my appearance and feeling much better, I walked briskly by the way I had come and soon found myself in the main hall of the Hornburg again. The tables had been cleared and the men disbanded, and the hall was now almost completely deserted. The sunlight shafting into the room through the entryway was every once in a while crossed by the shadow of a man on guard duty, briefly blocking out the radiance as he passed, and I could tell that the hour had passed midday.

I hurried to my things in the corner of the hall, stuffing my dirty clothes into the bottom of my saddlebags. Crouching, I checked to see that Aragorn's banner was still safely hidden beside Merry's pack. I tried to see if my friends were in the area immediately outside the castle, on the wide gallery visible within the doorway, but I could not get a very good view from where I sat. I was still squinting into the daylight when the noise of footsteps betrayed that someone was at my back.

"It has been said among my people that the Halfling folk are able to vanish in a twinkling, Lady Jorryn. Evidently, your time with them has given you the same ability."

I turned and looked straight up at King Théoden. He was alone, bent over me with his hands folded behind his back, wearing a cloak of green and girt with his sword.

Surprised, I hurried to stand and brushed dust from my knees. I floundered for a reply, embarrassed to be found in such an uncomely state, and could manage nothing more than a clumsy explanation. "Forgive me, my lord," I stammered, bowing my head, "but I did not want to intrude."

He opened his hands to me, palms outward, and said, "Please, Milady — if you were not made welcome, I must offer my apologies. I shall make certain that you receive better treatment hereafter."

"Thank you, sire, but it's really all right," I said, biting my lower lip around a bashful grin. "I needed time to get myself and my things together, anyway."

A spark lit his eyes, and a corner of his mouth tipped. "Master Meriadoc has been looking for you since our meal ended. I was able to assure him that you would be found, though, and he has now gone with my nephew to find some suitable armor. All are preparing to ride for Edoras. I believe the Lord Elrohir has readied your pony, and room will be made for you beside Meriadoc in my guard."

"Then I am to ride with you, sire?"

"Yes, Milady — but the hour is nigh, and so you must prepare in haste. We are to meet on the green before the Burg."

I opened my mouth to ask him a second question, but a man appeared, hurrying up to us from behind to murmur something in the king's ear. After a second, Théoden nodded to the messenger. "Forgive me, Milady," he said to me, nodding to excuse himself and moving away with the man.

I don't know what made me do it — perhaps it was the kindness that King Théoden had shown me and the sudden admiration I felt for him, or the pity that welled up in me when I saw the weariness come into his countenance just as he left to attend to evil matters — either way, before he had escaped my vision, I called out to him, "My lord!"

He and the man stopped and faced me, halfway down the hall at the feet of the staircase that would take them up to the king's chambers. I hurriedly closed the space separating us, but I realized after reaching them that I did not know what I was going to tell the king, and for a moment I tripped over broken sentences.

"Sire," I finally said, trembling nervously, "I know that — if I were to offer my sword, it would not do much good, and — and I'm not sure what use you could find for a Lady of the Shire, if any. But I do wish to do whatever I can, my lord, and — you see, I came with the Dúnedain to be nearer to my friends and to help them however I may —"

"You wish to be in the service of Rohan, Lady Jorryn?" Théoden wondered in surprise, a gentle smile lighting upon his features.

"If you would have me, my lord," I bumbled, grimacing. "But I would not even need that — I will take any task given to me, whether or not I am bound to your country."

He softened and, to my great astonishment, reached to cradle my chin in a weathered hand, tilting my head back to look directly into my eyes. "Milady, I would say that I am not worthy to have one of such devotion and valor in my service."

I frowned confusedly and almost protested, but he continued, "I have heard talk of your adventures, Lady Jorryn — of how you and the Halflings fled from danger to danger in the lands of the north with the Enemy at your heels. And now, again, you have left a sanctuary and gone to war, if only to see your friends before they ride to whatever end has been chosen for them."

I had to avert my stare at those words, for I was looking into the face of one who would soon meet his own death soon, and the thought tore at me. I swallowed hard and said, "My lord, I have done nothing which deserves any admiration."

His fingers moved from my chin to the crown of my head, the flat of his hand smoothing my curls. He was silent for a moment, contemplative, and then he said, "We ride for the refuge of Dunharrow, Lady Jorryn. There you shall meet the Lady Éowyn, who has governed the people in my absence, and it is under her that I believe you will find your most use. Does this satisfy you?"

Such joy blossomed in my heart that I could not contain it, and I beamed, "It does very much, my lord!"

"You are now a maiden of Rohan as well as the Shire," he pronounced, smiling kindly.

He left me standing at the bottom of the staircase with his blessings… and for many minutes I did not move from there, looking up the steps after him, love and elation bubbling within me.

* * *

I did not see Merry or the others again until I had repacked all of my things and taken them down to the fields under the Hornburg. An enormous group had already assembled there, but it was not hard for me to locate the sons of Elrond and the Dúnedain, who waited apart from the Rohirrim in a somber and ordered company. They had covered their heads with their hoods and drawn their cloaks close about them, and all were waiting silently for the arrival of Aragorn, Halbarad, and the sons of Elrond. One rider, sitting atop his own horse, greeted me with a nod and tossed me Bronwe's reins from his perch, saying, "It is good to see you rested, Mistadiel."

Catching the reins, I nuzzled my horse's nose and smirked up at him. "I did not rest long," I said, "but if I look it, then I'm happy."

I climbed into my saddle and looked out over the grand host amassing at our side. There were hundreds of riders, and sunlight glanced off every spear-tip and helm, the air rumbling with an unfamiliar language and the thundering of hooves. I had never seen a host of such magnificent size, and the noise and the power of those gathered alongside me seemed to shake my very bones. I was temporarily overwhelmed. Aragorn's gift, the staff still furled in black, lay across my lap, and I gripped it tightly while thinking, _These are the men that will fight and die for Rohan and for Middle-earth_.

The king emerged from the Burg shortly after with Meriadoc trailing after him, both looking the same; obviously no helm or other gear of war had been found for the hobbit. As the king mounted his snowy-white horse in the shadow of the rampway leading down from the walls, at the rear of the company, he caught my eye and gestured with a gloved hand for me to come nearer. I left the Dúnedain and spurred Bronwe toward the king, skirting the edge of the wide throng, and before I came to them Merry spotted me as well.

"Why, there you are, Jo!" he cried. He was seated on a very noble looking pony, a stout, long-necked creature that was outfitted in the colors of the Mark — I found out later that its name was Stybba, which seemed appropriate. "You vanished during supper without leaving so much as a clue as to where you went. I do believe you picked up some of Bilbo's bad habits while you lived with him in Rivendell, because he was always doing that to us when we least expected it."

"I remember," I giggled, "and I'm sorry, but I needed to change, as you see."

"Yes, I had noticed," the Brandybuck nodded, tilting his head as I lifted an arm to show off my petal-like sleeve. He sighed, "Dear Jo, what would everyone in the Shire think of you? I can't believe now that I once said you looked like a hobbit."

Settling himself into his saddle, King Théoden observed our exchange with mild amusement. The king threw back his dark green cape, secured at his neck with a large golden brooch, to reveal that it was lined with a rich burgundy fabric, and then gazed up toward the majestic Hornburg. "The Lady Jo is not so secluded as the Lord Aragorn," he remarked. "None have seen him since he went into a high room of the Burg early this morning."

No sooner had Théoden mentioned his name than the Chieftain of the Dúnedain came walking down from the gate with Legolas, Gimli, Halbarad, Éomer, Elrohir, and Elladan. They came briskly down the long rampway, Aragorn in the lead, and I quickly turned Bronwe about to be opposite them and offer my greetings. I heard Merry gasp worriedly beside me, "Strider!" and so I peered at the man, wondering what could cause the hobbit so much dismay.

I saw that Aragorn looked much different from the man I had seen just a few hours before. He was tired and drawn, his countenance gray behind his dark, mussed hair, and he did not meet our gaze before coming to the end of the rampway. Though he walked swiftly and with determination, his head was down, and I caught mere glimpses of his face when he moved to stand beside Théoden's horse.

"I am troubled, lord," my friend said to the king in a strained tone that easily matched his appearance. "I have heard strange words and thought long on them, and I fear that I must change my plan. Tell me — how long will it be before you come to Dunharrow?"

"Before the night of the third day from now we should come to the Hold," said Théoden.

"Three days, and the muster of Rohan will have only begun," Aragorn mumbled, bowing his head once more, his fingers wrapping around the hilt of his sword. I watched him breathe deeply and noticed the slow rise and fall of his burdened shoulders. He said at last, "Then, lord, I and my kin must ride our own road. I will go east as swiftly as I can, and I will take the Paths of the Dead."

Aragorn's last words seemed to hang palpably in the air for anyone to accept, but all who heard him instantly shrank away, and Théoden frowned darkly. Éomer whirled to Aragorn, shocked.

"The Paths of the Dead!" said the king. "Why? No living man may take that road."

"Aragorn," said Éomer grimly, "I had hoped that we should ride to war together… but if you seek the Paths of the Dead, then our parting is here already."

"That road I will take, nonetheless," replied Aragorn resolutely, standing tall and erect, apparently strengthened by his decision. "Éomer, we may yet meet again, though all the soldiers of Mordor should stand between us."

The king focused his attention on the men about him, turning away dejectedly from Aragorn. "Do what you will," Théoden said, his voice tense. "It is your doom, maybe. This parting grieves me, but now I must delay no longer. Farewell, Aragorn."

King Théoden spun his mount around and galloped away without a further word, and Aragorn was forced to call after him sadly, "Farewell, lord — ride into great renown!"

I did not follow the king right away, but Merry looked uncertainly from Aragorn to Théoden, wondering what to do. Aragorn, catching Stybba's bridle, said to the hobbit, "Farewell, Merry. I leave you in good hands. Legolas and Gimli will remain with me, but we shall not forget you."

"Goodbye, Aragorn," said Merry, sounding very small and bewildered.

"And farewell to you, too, Jorryn," Aragorn said to me, stepping near to Bronwe and adjusting a few of the straps on my saddlebags for me. "It is a sad thing that we should be parted so soon after meeting once more. I do hope to see you again in a time of peace, when we can sit and speak together of all we have seen."

"I'd like that, my lord," I smiled, and I thought of meeting him in Minas Tirith and being honored as a close friend of the king of Gondor. I looked over the man's shoulder to Halbarad, Elrohir, and Elladan, and I said to them, "Thank you for everything, lords — I can never repay you for all that you have done for me."

"No repayment is needed, Mistadiel," said Elladan.

Glancing down at the banner in my lap, I rubbed my thumb along its smoothed wooden shaft. "I cannot follow you this time," I said, extending the gift down to Halbarad, "so will you carry this for me, sire?"

"I would do anything if you were to ask it of me, Milady," the man answered with a tiny bow. He took the staff and set it straight up before him, leaving it hidden in its protective black shroud.

I nodded to Gimli and Legolas, who were at Aragorn's shoulder, and smiled encouragingly, saying, "Goodbye, friends."

"Our paths will cross again, Mistadiel," the Elf assured, placing a slender hand over his heart.

"And they will cross soon, Milady, if either you or I have anything to say about it," added Gimli, and I saw him wink in jest. "We are all going East — it is only a matter of how far each goes."

Suddenly, the sounding of a horn broke the silence hanging over our heads, and someone gave a shout from the head of the company. At our side, Éomer mounted his horse and jerked his head in a quick farewell to those still standing below us, then promptly rode to the head of the eager assemblage of riders. Merry and I had to follow, or else risk being left behind, but not before we had smiled one last time to our friends. I looked back once as the Brandybuck and I hurried to the front of the procession, and I saw Aragorn and Halbarad, already diminished to small, pale figures against the black shape of the Deeping Wall.

"I wish now more than ever that Pippin was here with us, Jo," Merry confided to me, the words jarred out of rhythm by the canter of his pony.

We caught up to Éomer and took our places directly behind the king, riding amid officers of the Mark and other stolid warriors. The horns continued to blast through the valley, echoing off the mountainsides and mingling with the pounding of a thousand hooves. I twisted my reins between my fingers, sensing an empty pit open within my stomach. "I know, Merry," I said to the hobbit, "I wish we were all together again."

We turned eastwards, and Helm's Deep vanished from our view behind us.

* * *

Riding with the Rohirrim was a much different experience in comparison to my travels with the Dúnedain; while the Men of the West had been quiet and somber throughout the entirety of our long journey, the Riders of the Mark were lifting their voices in song and conversing constantly at our backs in their low, resonant language. We traveled unhurriedly but with little rest, and for the first few hours or so I was content to simply canter along and listen to the Rohirrim, trying to piece together fragments of their conversations, which at times almost seemed intelligible to me. All who spoke to us were kind and patient with Merry and me. They probably thought of us as little more than children tagging along at the heels of their great leader, but I did not mind — I was satisfied as long as we were not considered hindrances.

King Théoden was taking his men through the mountains to his refuge, and the way was slow along the craggy foothills and dense forests. We passed through deep dales and over streams, sometimes on paths so narrow that no more than a few men could ride abreast, and when we were in the open on hilltops, the Westfold always stretched out under thin haze to our left. Soon the miles and miles of terrain meshed into one steady rush of green knolls and trickling brooks under the clear, blue atmosphere.

I was proud of myself for being able to remain sensible through the beginning of a day's ride to the end, even if I was still exhausted from my previous travels. Merry, however, could barely stay awake after only a little while on the road, and by the closing of the first day, he trotted beside me with his head lolling down against his chest.

Théoden once glanced back in time to see me reach over and give the Brandybuck a sharp jab in his ribs to wake him, and the king chuckled. "I envy him his few moments of rest," the king said softly. "He has had much happen to him in such a short amount of time."

Slapping my hand away, Merry lifted his half-lidded eyes to the man, saying, "Yes, my lord, more has happened to us than should be allowed in so few days. What time is it?"

The sky was filled with the colors of the fading evening, and smears of pink, orange, and yellow colored the horizon. Théoden's golden hair caught a few of the last rays of the setting sun. "It will be dark soon, Meriadoc, and we shall stop under the rising moon," he said. "You must stay alert until then."

A short time later, the king ordered the company to halt, and a bivouac was made of the wide valley in which we had stopped. Théoden and his closest riders drew together around a small fire surrounded with stones, and Merry and I lingered on the outside of this group, spreading out our blankets at the edge of the firelight's reach. For a while, the king spoke in Rohirric to Éomer and the other marshals, their words coming softly above the crackling of their fire, and I listened drearily as I reclined next to my hobbit. I rested with my face turned upward to the heavens, which were clearer than I had seen them in days, and stars glittered in the inky black immensity above me like distant lanterns. Out of habit, I picked out the few constellations I could recognize, and once again I felt homesick for the Shire.

"Jo, are you awake?" came a sudden, drowsy mumble from Merry. The hobbit was turned away from me, and he did not shift around until I answered him.

"I thought you were asleep," I said, and I squinted at him to make sure he wasn't talking through the veil of his dreams.

"I should be," he snorted, twisting about under our blankets. The luminance of the fire danced in his dark stare for a moment, and vanished just as soon as he settled back down. He rubbed tiredly at the side of his head, pushing curls away from his eyes.

"You've been wanting to rest all day, silly hobbit, and now that you finally can, you refuse to, " I returned with a small laugh.

"I know that, but I wanted to tell you that I really am glad you're here," he murmured seriously. "I would be terribly lonely without you around to entertain me, now that Pippin's gone off with Gandalf."

"You're welcome — I'm happy that I'm useful for something."

"I do miss him dreadfully."

"I know," I whispered, touched by such a frank confession.

He paused, and then said, "Where do you suppose Frodo and Sam are right now, at this very instant?"

I felt my chest squeezed by a horrid, cold pressure, and I shuddered, because I really didn't know. The pain of uncertainty and of missing them both so terribly made me hesitate. After a silent moment, I replied softly, "They are somewhere out there, Merry, under this same sky and these very stars."

We were roused before the sunrise by the horns of Rohan and told by a gruff soldier to mount our ponies, which were waiting next to King Théoden's magnificent white steed. The vale we had rested in was filled with fog, and mist was curling around the legs of the horses, making the breaths of the riders evident as puffs of vapor the moment they came out of their lips. Éomer and the king greeted us with nods, and we started off again with the horns echoing off the mountainsides and chasing us back onto the road.

Most were silent, for the most part, until the sun had risen enough to begin burning the haze away from the deep places of the earth. When it did, I saw that we rode along the edge of a steep cliff with the mountains looming white and cold at our right flank. We were traveling at a brisk clip through the chill morning, and the cool breeze against our faces lifted the green and gold banners that were carried just behind the king. A white horse galloped across the silken fabrics, whipping about in the air above our heads.

King Théoden seemed unwilling to talk of frivolous things, so Merry and I dropped back, and around a yawn the Brandybuck asked me, "Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah," I said, "it's very easy to feel comfortable riding with a group this large."

"Yes, it is, as far as that goes," he hummed idly. "I wouldn't mind having a bed and a nice mug of ale as well, though. I can't remember how long it's been since I've had either of those comforts."

"Not since Rivendell, probably," I said.

"You're most likely right," the Brandybuck agreed. "It would be the same for you, then? I can't imagine why you left fluffy blankets and hot baths all behind for the misery of the road and a bed of hard earth."

I laughed, "Well, I did it to see you, and everyone else, of course — and I think it's worth it. I can always do without my pillow for a while."

"But surely you must miss it, at least a little."

"Yes, I do miss Rivendell, among other things," I relented, shifting in my saddle. "Not nearly as much as I miss the Shire, or Pippin's jokes, or the sound of Sam's voice, or Frodo's eyes. And I always missed your smile."

His mouth quirked at that, and he gave a sigh, averting his focus to the wintry, gray grasslands below us. I followed his gaze. The fog had lifted from the fields and was now resting on the peaks of the mountains, moving across the sky like tattered rags. Still turned away from me, Meriadoc spoke up, "We thought about you all the time, you know — the four of us. There were times when we'd see something we know you would love, like a stream in a valley or the sun on the hills, and it was almost as good as having you there. We had a list of things we meant to share with you after coming home."

Uncertain how to react, I drew a quick breath and waited for him to go on. The hobbit continued, forcing a halfhearted grin, "But things changed, and the Fellowship was broken, and I began to wonder if we were ever going to see the Shire again. Pippin and I stopped talking about home after leaving Lórien, because we both thought we'd never see our dear _smials _again."

"Merry," I murmured, struggling to keep my voice steady and leaning forward to better see him, "you mustn't lose hope."

He swallowed and turned further away from me, saying, "No, I've not lost all hope, Jo. To be honest, I think you're the only reason Frodo and Sam have a chance of getting to Mordor. Frodo never could bear the thought of not seeing you again."

My vision blurred, and I stared straight ahead to an area between Bronwe's ears, fighting the urge to crumple into a sobbing heap on top of my pony.

The company drew close, at the end of the day, to the pass at base of the Starkhorn, the great tumbled peak of the White Mountains. It had been glowering down ahead of our group since the night before, its shoulders swathed in mist, the summit reaching far above to nearly pierce the sky with its jagged, snowy crest. As twilight fell upon us, the Rohirrim stopped on a hilltop near the many tumbled bluffs of the mountain, and we were finally granted some rest. I had not spoken much to Meriadoc since that morning's conversation — he had chosen to ride with the king, in front of me. I had listened to them talk of their two very different childhoods for several hours, and I'd heard a good many tales of both the Mark and the Shire.

"And what is your hall like, where you live?" Merry had first asked.

I had seen the king look down, kind and father-like, on the hobbit, a wistful smile coming to his aged face. "The Golden Hall of Meduseld sits on the highest hilltop in Edoras," he answered, "thatched with gold and supported by archways and pillars wrought in the days of old, by my fathers. There is a high stair leading up to the main doors, where the Lady Éowyn is found oft awaiting the return of some company that has been long in coming. My windows face East and West, and my flags fly high in the hands of my marshals. This is my home, and it is there that I hope to sit with you and speak properly, Meriadoc, in the courts of Rohan's kings."

It had been thoroughly depressing.

I did not sleep well that night, and I rose long before Merry and most of the company the next morning. The camp was silent when I climbed over my snoring hobbit and crept to the outer edges of the group, drawn by the sound of far-off rushing water and the echo of wind in a gorge below. On our hill, the air was thick with haze like the preceding morning, and my observation of outlying lands was limited. The atmosphere was filled with low-hanging clouds, pressing down on me, walling me in on all sides.

I hugged my arms to my stomach, suddenly getting the impression that I was entirely alone on an island surrounded by murkiness and uncertainty, and the sense weighed on me so that I had to hang my head and regain myself. In my heart, I did not wish to be in Rohan, Rivendell, or anywhere else. I wanted nothing more than to be back in Bag End with my hobbits, sitting around the fire in a parlor and laughing, safely tucked away from all Middle-earth's troubles.

"But things changed," I said to myself, remembering Merry's remark from the day before. I released a vaporous sigh, adjusting the cloak about my neck. Yes, things certainly were different — Merry had changed, the world had changed, and I had changed. At that moment, the fire in Bag End seemed farther away than the Time I had once known as my own.

"I am sorry there is not much to see of the Westfold this morning, Lady Jorryn," came an unexpected apology at my back. My head came up, and I looked over my shoulder to see Éomer standing a few paces away from me, his hands folded stiffly at the hilt of his sword. When our eyes met, he bowed and then moved to join me on the ridge of the hill.

"It's quite all right," I said quickly, trying not to stare at his broad, armored form. A section of his fair hair was secured at the back of his head, and nothing obscured his dark irises and pursed lips. I tried to explain to him, "I couldn't sleep, my lord, and I only wanted to explore a bit before leaving."

Peering down at me, he extended a small grin and pointed to a dim area below us. "Again I apologize that you cannot explore very effectively. Perhaps I can help — if you listen, the water you hear is a tributary of the Snowbourn River, Milady. Today, it will leap down before us, guiding always to the wide valley of Harrowdale. We will reach the vale ere the sun sets."

"Oh, that's… good," I said, simultaneously feeling relieved and saddened, for I was fatigued from riding but did not wish to be parted from my friends. For, most certainly, I would stay in the refuge by myself, hidden, until word came that all had ended and it was safe for me to go to my friends. I frowned at the thought; I had not really reflected on how I would manage that, yet.

"I hear that you are to be in the service of Éowyn, my sister," the man added pleasantly. "She will be honored to hear it. You will surely love her as all others do and find her to be one of the kindest you can expect to meet during your travels."

"Thank you, sire," I said. "I would like to help her and everyone else in any way I can."

"You have done much already, thought you do not know it, Milady. My people take heart from the courage of you and the Halfling, and they smile to see you both beside the king."

I flushed, unable to stop a tiny, delighted giggle, and I answered him, "I'm glad to hear that, sire — thank you."

A buzz of voices had been steadily growing throughout our conversation, and now there was a dull roar filling the camp behind us. The sun had finally managed to rise somewhere in the east, but it reached us as a weak, dark blue, filtering down through the clouds feebly. Éomer glanced back at the company and hurriedly straightened, and I realized a moment later he had done so because King Théoden was walking toward us, carrying his helm under one arm.

"Good morning to you," the king called, meeting us merrily.

"Good morning, lord," Éomer and I replied, he with a bow and I with a quick curtsey.

"It is a drear day of this bitter Spring," the king assessed, squinting down uselessly into the haze, "but I daresay it will end well enough. Dunharrow is a welcome thought to all." He stopped and nodded vaguely to his nephew, saying, "Éomer, go and make certain all of the company is awakened, if you will."

Éomer left me standing alone with King Théoden, who seemed to take little notice of me for several seconds. I waited for almost a minute, and was contemplating escape, before he abruptly said, "You were disinclined to speak yesterday, Lady Jorryn. Is anything the matter?"

I faltered on my reply, surprised that he had even noticed. At length, I managed to say, "I was enjoying listening to the two of you, my lord, and I did not wish to interrupt. Besides, I think Merry knows a great deal more about the history of the Shire than I do."

He shifted his helm from one crook of the arm to the other, chuckling. "I will not argue with that fact, but I will say that you seemed unhappy. Did the Halfling give you news that saddened you?"

"Well, yes," I admitted timidly, wincing, "and… forgive me, my lord, but so much talk of our home was somewhat disheartening."

His eyes glittered gently, and he said, "Do not be sorry for such a thing, Milady. It is regrettable that you and your friends were driven from your homeland, and I do not expect you to feel any other way. But have courage: you will see your Shire again."

"Thank you, my lord," I said, filled with love for the old man. He walked with me back to the company, and I was told to be ready before half an hour's time.

Merry found me repacking my saddlebags beside Bronwe a short time later, and the hobbit immediately expressed regret that he had not been more tactful while talking to me the previous day. "It was wrong of me to say such things, Jo… and if it helps, I was just as miserable as you were," he said, and by my laughter, he knew he had been forgiven.

We set out from the shadow of the mountains while the sun was still struggling to reach the earth, my stomach filled with bread and sweetmeat and my spirits lifted. Matching yesterday's pace, we immediately descended into a narrow gorge, where the stream tumbled down before us exactly like Éomer had described to me. High pine trees grew densely on either side of the small river, and wind hissed through their needles as we passed them in a tight column. I rode at the head with Merry, Théoden, and Éomer, speaking much more than I ever had in the presence of the Rohirrim.

"I have heard both the Dúnedain and Lord Aragorn call you 'Mistadiel,' Lady Jorryn," mused Théoden, after a time, "and none here know what this name means."

"It was given to me by the Elves in Rivendell," I clarified cheerfully. "From what I was told, it means something like 'straying daughter' in their tongue."

"The Men of the Mark are not familiar with the Elves, and it is a thing that we now lament," said Éomer. "If half of that race is as fair and noble as Legolas of Mirkwood, who has helped us through many troubles, then they are a wondrous folk, indeed."

"Yes," Théoden agreed, "and if peace is gained after all is ended, I would have our peoples live as friends in the future."

"I wish something like that could be done for the Shire," said Merry. "I doubt it would work if we tried, though — I know a few who can be quite stubborn. No one there is probably even aware of anything that's going on in Middle-earth right now, and I trust they'd be very content keep on living so."

"Your home seems to be a world unto itself, Master Meriadoc," laughed the king, shaking his bright head. "You should be glad for your families and friends, I think, and the fact that they do not know the suffering of this age."

"I suppose, my lord," the hobbit said grudgingly.

We fell silent, and the only noises for a long period were the echoes of hooves against stone and the clear gurgling of the stream flowing directly beside us. Someone riding at the middle of the company began a long and mournful song, and I listened to him with my head cocked to the side, the words coming up to us on the wind and rolling thickly over my tired form. While I gave all my attention to the song, Merry slowed, coming to rest just behind us, and there he remained for the rest of our journey, quiet and contemplative.

The sun passed over our heads much faster than I expected it to, signaling a cloudy midday. We rested briefly in the ravine next to the river, during which time I attempted to start a conversation with my Brandybuck, but he was not in any mood for talking. He gnawed on a lump of bread and responded minimally to my questions, and nothing I did drew him out of his stupor. He seemed to be thinking very hard about something beyond my reach.

I knew the day was ending when I saw the sides of the Starkhorn above colored a brilliant crimson by the failing sun, and the air around me grew began to grow cooler with every passing minute. I heard Éomer call back to us, "We are coming to it, now," and a moment later, the king had led us around an outcropping of rocks, and I was suddenly gazing down upon the mountain valley of Harrowdale.

It was a vast place, surrounded on all sides by the marching ranks of the White Mountains, closed off almost completely from the rest of Middle-earth. The stream beside us sprang down the rocks and joined the mighty River Snowbourn far below, which roared out of the dale and went on to pass through the grasslands near Edoras. I saw the rows and rows of white tents already assembled on the flat plain near the river — this was the muster of Rohan.

"Oh, Jo," Merry grumbled at my shoulder, "it's so big, I feel crushed by the weight of the whole world. I've been thinking about Pippin, but now I am glad he isn't here, getting crushed together with us."

The king led his company slowly down the steep mountainside in the deepening dusk, the gurgle of waters and the sighing of trees all around us, and my view of the valley was blocked by waving branches.

"Harrowdale at last," said Éomer, relieved. "Our journey is almost at an end."

"This journey is over, maybe, but there is far to go," Théoden replied. "Last night the moon was full, and in the morning I shall ride to Edoras to gather our forces."

I pressed my hands together tightly, wishing that the morning would not come too soon. Éomer said, "But if you take my counsel, lord, you would return here afterward, until the war is over."

"You speak to me like Wormtongue once did," the king said, smiling and looking back at the riders winding their way down behind us. "If the war is lost, what good will be my hiding in the hills? And if it is won, what grief will it be, even if I fall? But at least tonight I will stay in Dunharrow."

We came down in the dark to the fords at the Snowbourn, where guards jumped from the shadows, and the king was met with shouts of, "Théoden King, Théoden King! The King of the Mark returns!" Horns were blown, and lights leapt out of the obscurity in the camp beyond the river.

Théoden now rode swiftly through the valley, taking the road cloven down the center of the city of tents, and those standing at the path's side cheered as we passed. Booths and makeshift corrals had also been erected within the encampment, and lines of horses stood tethered at the roadside, watching us with mild curiosity. I could not guess the number of those gathered here, nor could I fully see everything that surrounded me. Glancing at Merry, I noticed that his mouth was open and his eyes were wide with awe, his countenance pale in the gray evening.

There was a sheer cliff face at the end of the vale, rising upward all at once from the flats, but our road lead straight into it; peering up, I quickly comprehended that the path climbed upward into the wall, snaking from one side to the other, cutting into it in levels like winding stairs. Here, all were dismissed except for the king's guard, Merry, and I, and we began the long climb up to our resting place. Statues of ancient men stood at every turn in the path, gnarled and malicious, and I could hardly force myself to look at the uncomely, ape-like figures.

"They are the Púkel-men, left behind by some unfortunate civilization," explained Théoden, seeing my expression of disgust. "They have no power."

Still overwhelmed by the immensity of the Hold, I kept quiet until we reached the top of the path — at which time I gave a gasp of wonder. We had ascended through a cut in a wall of rock and come to an immense, green mountain plain above the valley, where the king's pavilion and many smaller tents stood. The structures had been set up close to the field's outer edge, huddled away from the trees that grew farther in. Tall, broken standing stones lined either side of the path, towering above us. My eyes followed their lines, and I saw that they led on into the menacing shadow of the trees under a tall peak, the Dwimorberg, the Haunted Mountain. I had heard the men speak of it with fear, because underneath that dreaded crag was the door to the Paths of the Dead.

But we did not take that road. Théoden stopped us near the edge of the cliff and immediately swung himself out of his saddle, crying, "Welcome to the Firienfeld, friends! Here we shall take some rest and prepare for tomorrow's journey."

With a groan, I slid sideways off Bronwe and alighted on the trampled grass, and at the other side of my pony, I heard the faint thump that signaled Merry had done the same. Exhausted, I shook hair out of my vision and gazed westward to the weak blue haze at the horizon, watching the last light of the day become pale against the black, jagged outlines of the mountains. My heart was heavy with the thought of being separated from Merry and King Théoden, and my thoughts kept flitting between the two of them. I was cold, hungry, and tired, but I had made up my mind to stay with them both that night as long as I was allowed.

A clear, high voice suddenly came to us, greeting the king joyfully from behind, "Hail, Lord of the Mark!"

"And you, Éowyn," Théoden called back to his niece. "Are you well?"

I had not seen anyone come out to meet the king's company. Hurrying around Bronwe, I came to stand next to Meriadoc, and it was then that I first saw her — tall, straight, and stern, Éowyn was before her uncle the king, her long golden hair falling unbound about her fair face, her mouth a firm, somber line. Her eyes were hard and almost cold, and she stood with her arms folded across a waist girt with sword. Even the simple gown of white and brown she wore suggested that she could ride off to battle at any moment.

"All is well," she answered Théoden. "It was a weary road for the people to take. But all is now prepared, and your lodging is ready for you. We had word of your coming."

"So Aragorn has come, then," guessed Éomer. "Is he still here?"

"No, he is gone," she said grimly, her piercing stare falling on him. "He came at night and rode away yesterday, in the morning before the sun rose."

Théoden took a step nearer to her and said in a low, serious tone, "Did he speak of the Paths of the Dead?"

"Yes, lord," Éowyn said, and I thought I perceived a slight tremble upon her lips. "He has passed into the shadows, and I could not stop him."

Despairing, Éomer's head fell, and he reached for the dangling reins of his horse, saying forlornly, "Then we will not see him again. We must ride without him."

He walked slowly away from us. Théoden let his nephew go and was silent for a moment as he watched him, but once the younger man had gone, the king beckoned to Merry and me. "Where old hopes die, there are others to replace them," he told Éowyn. "Here are two that I have brought with me out of danger and death from the west. They are in the service of the Mark and are here as our honored guests."

The Lady of Rohan let her arms fall to her sides into a less intimidating posture, and she said, softening, "They are known to me as well, lord. I have prepared a tent next to your pavilion for them."

"Good," the king approved, "we will go and rest. I have called the marshals and captains, and they should arrive soon. Let my new esquire and the Lady of the Shire come at the same time."

King Théoden smiled at us before leading his niece toward the main tent on the Firienfeld, and the hobbit and I were left standing alone. For a second we could do nothing except remain there, two very small people in an enormous, bleak world, but then Merry spoke up, "It's not so bad up here."

"No, it's not," I said, breathing deeply of the cool mountain air.

"It's quite a place, don't you think? And we've gotten a wonderful welcome. The Lady Éowyn is a fine one to be under, I'd say," he added, "but I wouldn't want to make her angry. She looked like one of the fiercest people I could ever hope to meet."

"She didn't seem cruel, though," I said. "I'm sure I'll be all right."

"Well, I knew that already — when _aren't_ you?" the hobbit said teasingly. He offered me his arm, along with the small, carefree grin that I loved. It was the first I had seen of it that day and was a welcome sight. My friend gave a slight bow and asked me, "Shall we go, Lady Jorryn, and leave such dark matters behind us a while?"

I laughed happily and nodded, "We shall, my good Master Brandybuck."

We set off, arm in arm, toward the warmth and light of the king's camp, our laughter filling the space around us.


	34. From Dark Dunharrow

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own any of Tolkien's characters or the world he created. The only character of mine (Jorryn) has decided to take a holiday in Tolkien's Middle-earth. No copyright infringement on any of J. R. R. Tolkien's works is intended.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Here, at last, is another chapter of _Time Will Tell_. Thank you to everyone who reviewed that last chapter. I know 32 was long, **Telepiel**, and I'm sorry, but there were many things I wished to happen in it. Hopefully this one will be a little better. :) Jorryn and Merry have reached Dunharrow with King Théoden, and the mustering of Rohan has begun. Please enjoy, and let me know what you think!

**Again, for those who have not read the books**, in case you missed this at the beginning of the last chapter — I am following Tolkien's story for the most part, not the movies. In the book, Gandalf and Pippin and Aragorn never go to Dunharrow or Edoras with the Rohirrim. Everyone splits up right after they go to Isengard, come upon Merry and Pippin, and speak with Treebeard and Saruman, all of which _is _at the beginning of the film. Pippin looks into the _palantír _at the camp that night, and Gandalf, realizing the hobbit has endangered the whole group, takes him immediately to Minas Tirith. The Dúnedain, who were cut completely from the film, meet the Rohirrim shortly after midnight, and that is where Jorryn managed to wheedle her way into the story again. From there, Aragorn and his company go with King Théoden to Helm's Deep; Aragorn looks into the _palantír _and makes his decision to take the Paths of the Dead. He leaves Helm's Deep with the Dúnedain and takes the fast way to Dunharrow (the refuge you see in the film), while King Théoden takes the slower mountain ways and arrives there after Aragorn and the others have already gone through the Door. Dunharrow is where the Rohirrim are mustering for the next battle, which is the Battle of Pelennor Fields.

Thanks again, and please let me know if anything is incorrect or confusing!

**33**

Merry and I found our tent prepared as well as any could be on the Firienfeld. It was small, but we had ample room to move stooped slightly forward about the cozy, private area, and the two cots set for us, piled with blankets, were more than we could have asked for. Seeing them, Meriadoc immediately collapsed upon one and breathed a heavy sigh. A light breeze played with the thick canvas above our heads and made the structure flutter. I glanced toward the sliver of evening showing through the flaps, watching a few men pass by on their way to the king's pavilion, before taking a seat across from Merry on my cot.

"I suppose you know what all this talk about the 'Paths of the Dead' means," he said abruptly, lifting an eyebrow.

I looked at him, reclined before me with his hairy feet crossed at his ankles, and smiled a little. "Yes, I do," I answered.

He growled agitatedly, "I know I must not ask you to tell me anything, but I cannot help being curious. I'm truly worried for Aragorn and the others now, especially since everyone has reacted to his decision to take the Paths of the Dead with such fear. What does it all mean? Everyone has gone off without us, Jo — all our friends have traveled to some doom, and we are left here trying to puzzle it all out."

"Your turn will come soon enough, Merry, don't worry," I told him.

He sat up and looked at me closely. "I don't know whether or not that is supposed to be encouraging, my dear Lady," he said with a smirk, "but at any rate, I've just remembered how hungry I am. Do you think some food could be found in this place?"

We were about to get up and find out, when a soldier stuck his head into our tent and said over the noise of a sudden resounding trumpet blast, "Théoden King calls for his esquire and the Lady of the Shire."

Merry and I were taken to the king's pavilion, and the hanging across the entryway was pulled aside for us. We were ushered into a wide space strewn with animal skins and lit by bright fires in tall, golden braziers. Rich banners of the Mark hung at every section of the canvas walls, their deep colors dancing in the unsteady firelight. A white horse galloped across the farthest standard, which hung behind the highest seat at the opposite end of the pavilion. There, before it, Théoden of Rohan sat at the head of his small table, with Éomer and Éowyn close by. The air in the tent was thick with apprehension and silence, and I could not help being overwhelmed by the heaviness of the situation.

Uncertainly, Merry went to the king's side, and I followed his example and went to Éowyn's. It was several minutes before Théoden raised his head and saw us, coming out of a reverie, and he said, "Come, my friends — sit with us, as long as we remain in our own lands."

The hobbit and I sat together on one low bench at the king's side, but still no one spoke. The faces of those around us were gray, and eyes were downcast. We were not accustomed to such gloomy meals, and Merry gave me a heavy glance before digging hungrily in to the food brought for us. He finished much faster than I and for a while rested quietly, staring about with mild curiosity, a frown playing with his features. I knew that the same question he had asked me in the privacy of our tent was still on his mind.

And, surely enough, he asked it again. "Lord," he began tentatively to the king, "I have heard of the Paths of the Dead many times, now. Where has Aragorn gone?"

"We do not know," answered Éomer. "But as for the Paths of the Dead, you have yourself walked its earliest portion. The road that we climbed to the Firienfeld is the approach to the Door."

Théoden gripped the arms of his chair, saying, "If the old legends are true, then the Door under Dwimorberg leads to a secret way beneath the mountain. Those who enter do not return. It is said that Dead Men of the Dark Years haunt the way."

Merry was distraught at this news. "Then why has Aragorn gone that way?"

"No one knows his purpose," Éomer replied.

"Maybe he was called," murmured Théoden faintly, "and my heart tells me that I will not see him again."

"Whether he was called or not, I would not go that way even if had no other refuge," said Éomer.

Desperate for knowledge about our friend, Merry turned first to the king, then to Éomer, and finally to me, impatiently prodding my side with his elbow. "You must tell us, Jo — it will eat at me if I don't know why Aragorn has gone to such a fate," he begged me. "Please tell us _something_ of what you know, at least."

Several pairs of eyes fell on me, and I felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment. I wanted to clout Merry for bringing the king's attention to me when I did not know what to say — I made a mental note to take care of it later — but I cleared my throat and said in a small and hesitant voice, "He has gone to seek the aid of the Dead under the mountains. As the heir to the throne of Gondor, he has that right."

No one dared to ask how I knew, but Théoden's face darkened and he bowed his head. The king understood, yet I could tell that I had only succeeded in confusing Merry further, and his uncertainty was evident in the furrow of his brow.

Théoden spoke as one who is in a dream, staring down into the wrinkles of cloth in his lap, "So the time foretold in the old tales has come, and Aragorn has gone to his doom."

At that moment, the guard who had summoned Merry and me interrupted us, throwing back the curtain at the far end of the tent and saying to Théoden, "A man is here, lord, an errand-rider of Gondor. He wishes to come before you at once."

King Théoden stood and said, "Let him come."

A man clad in dark mail and a cloak stooped under the hangings and straightened before us, and I heard Merry draw in a quick breath beside me. I understood why; the newcomer could have been Boromir, if his hair were shorter and lighter, and if his stance were not so daunting. He must have been one of his close kin.

The errand-rider bore the weapons of war, and in his hand was a black arrow tipped with brilliant red. I didn't know if it was blood or paint. Théoden stepped from behind our table to greet the man, who, seeing him, dropped to his knee and offered the arrow up to the king.

"Hail, Lord of the Rohirrim, friend of Gondor! I am here on the Lord Denethor's orders, and I bring you this token of war. Gondor is in great need. Lord Denethor asks for all your strength and all your speed, lest Gondor fall at last."

"The Red Arrow," said Théoden, accepting it in shock. I tried to recall what exactly the Arrow signified, but it escaped the clumsy grappling of my mind. "Has it indeed come to that? And what does the Lord Denethor think that all my strength and all my speed may be?"

"That is known only to yourself, lord," said the messenger, and he pushed himself to his feet. "But soon Minas Tirith will be surrounded, and unless you have the strength to break a siege, the Lord Denethor bids me say that the Rohirrim would be better within his walls than without."

"But he knows that we are a people who fight rather upon horseback and in the open, and that time is needed for the mustering of our forces," the king said, weighing the Red Arrow in his palm. "We are already at war."

Hirgon narrowed his eyes and said, "Our case is desperate. My lord does not issue any command to you — he begs you only to remember old friendship and oaths. It is before the walls of Minas Tirith that the doom of our time will be decided. If the evil is not stopped there, you will find no refuge in your kingdom."

Éowyn rose to stand at the shoulder of her uncle, and the king smiled faintly downward at the toes of his boots. "Say to Denethor," he bade the errand-rider, "that even if Rohan felt no danger, we would come to his aid. Six thousand shall ride with me. A week it may be from tomorrow ere we reach you."

"In seven days, you may find Minas Tirith in ruins," said Hirgon disappointedly. Merry snuck a glance at me, but I was watching Théoden as the man went on, "If the Orcs have begun feasting in the White City, you might disturb their celebrations."

"We will do that, if nothing else," nodded the king. "But now is the time for rest. You may camp here and see the muster of Rohan, and ride with your tidings before us."

The man bowed and left us, and Théoden gazed upon those still around him. "Go, and sleep well," he said to us. "Master Meriadoc, be ready for my call as soon as the sun is risen."

Merry slipped out of his seat and said, "I will be ready."

"Milady?" I wondered of Éowyn, not sure if I was allowed to leave, but she shook her head.

"I will not keep you from your sleep, Lady Jorryn," she said.

I walked the short distance across the covered ground to the hanging across the entryway of the king's pavilion and reached to pull the curtains aside. There I stopped for a mere second to look back at the leader of Rohan, my fingertips just brushing the canvas in front of me. Théoden had turned away and bent over the fire in a nearby brazier, clasping his hands behind his stooping back, his head bowed beyond my vision. Éowyn waited behind, her stare downcast and her golden hair stirring in the cold breeze rushing past my arms. They said nothing, and I left them sadly. That vision of the tired, old king and the Lady of Rohan was to stay with me forever.

I was greeted in our tent by Merry's frustrated exclamations of, "I won't be left behind, to be called for on return! They cannot simply leave me here and expect me to continue being useless, and I won't stand for it — "

Sitting down on my cot, I tugged at my boots and struggled to free my feet from their depths. "Calm down, Merry," I told him. "You have fewer worries than any here."

He quieted but continued to yank sourly at the leather belt about his waist until it was undone and thrown in a heap on the ground. With several bitter grunts, he pulled back the blankets on his makeshift bed and climbed under them, clenching his hands together over his chest. I observed this behavior while removing my own sword and cape, and I saw that gradually the resentment left his countenance, and he again became the gentle Brandybuck that I loved. I was almost done unwinding the braids in my tangled hair when he finally was able to question me in a normal tone, "Strider would not have gone through the Door if there were no hope for us, would he, Jo?"

"He would not go anywhere without hope or purpose," I responded.

The hobbit's head tilted sideways, and his bright curls were pressed against his cheek and the pillow under it. He grimaced at me, asking, "What am I to do, Jo, since I _have_ no purpose, nor anyone to tell me what it is? Surely I am not to stay here, while Pippin, and everyone else — if that errand-rider wasn't lying — are in battles even as we speak? I can't bear the thought."

My fingers tripped along the line of my braid, and I bit my lower lip. How easy it would have been to say to him, _No, you have no purpose in Gondor, so you must stay here with me_, and have a friend at my side during the darkest days of Middle-earth's history! But I knew I could not, and I cleared my throat, shifting away from him. "You don't need anyone to tell you what to do," I said. "You must do what you feel is right, regardless of what I or the king or anybody else says."

He groaned, pressing his knuckles into his temples, "You know, I really do regret leaving you in Rivendell with the Elves, now — you might as well be one of them, for all your suddenly vague speech and newfound pretentiousness."

At that, I giggled, knowing that he didn't really mean it to sound harsh. "Do I seem that way? I'm sorry… I guess living with Lord Elrond can do that to a person. You can rest assured that I will always be a hobbit at heart, though."

"That's quite a relief," he huffed, closing his eyes. "I have at least one less thing to think about, in any case."

Our conversation ended with that abrupt statement, and the hobbit fell promptly asleep, slipping away to his dreams while I remained sitting for a long time across from him. There was enough light in our gloomy shelter for me to stare unhindered at him, which I had not done in a long time, and so I took advantage of it. I saw the scar, given to him by the Orcs of Saruman, running along one side of his forehead, and I noted the roughness of the hands folded atop his slowly rising and falling form. All at once, I was overcome by my love for the small, sweet hobbit.

How had I survived without him during those long months in Imladris — and how was I now surviving without Sam and Pippin and Frodo?

I knew I was not ready to sleep despite our long travels, and I didn't even bother to turn down my bed. After Merry had slept for a few minutes and I had listened contentedly to his steady breathing, I left him alone and went walking through the king's quiet camp on the Firienfeld.

Guards milled about campfires near the tents on either side of the path running down the field's center, but they took little notice of me. Wind hissed through the trees in the shadow of the Dwimorberg behind us, and the grass under my bare feet was soft and cold, trodden by many hooves. I made my way without difficulty to the brink of the cliff overlooking the valley where the rest of the Rohirrim were gathered. I could see the faint outlines of the organized rows of tents below me, and the entire valley was so quiet that I heard the whispers of the river far across the expanse of the Harrowdale. I breathed deeply of the fresh, wild mountain air.

I had gone far from my tent without considering the fact that if I wanted to return to it, I would have to do so under the menacing glare of the Haunted Mountain. The thought made me shudder, and I pivoted hurriedly, keeping my head down, wanting to return to the safety of my blankets quickly. Half-formed ghosts began to flit around inside my imagination, forcing me closer to the light of the guards' small fires on my left. I was passing one group with my arms hugged close to my stomach when someone called out to me.

"You could not sleep, Lady Jorryn?"

I was brought to a halt at a fire near the jagged stones marching down the center of the camp, and, shivering, I spotted Éowyn beyond the huddled cluster of guards. The weak radiance danced across her pale skin and hair, and her sharp eyes were fixed inquisitively on me.

Suppressing a cough, I said, "No, Milady, though I know how tired I should be."

She granted me a glimpse of her smile — there was a faint curl in the corners of her thin mouth, and then it was gone — and stepped around the men to me, shifting the bundle in her arms. "All have gone to their beds, save for you and I and the soldiers given guard duty. Shall we keep each other company, since there is none to be found anywhere else?"

"I would be glad to, Milady," I said happily. "Is there anything I can do to help you?"

Instinctively, her arms tightened around whatever she held hidden against her chest, and she said, "No, but you can do this: you may speak freely to me, Jorryn, of whatever comes to your mind. Tell me about your lands in the North, and brighten these dismal hours with stories of your home."

She commenced walking again, and I followed her, silently at first, until my mind was filled with memories of the Shire's green hillsides and homely villages, and I began telling the Lady of Rohan about the Hill and Bag End, and about the adventures I had shared with the hobbits. I feared afterward that I failed to impress upon her how wonderfully _different_ the Shire was from any other part of Middle-earth… but in any case, I amused her. We meandered through the camp, past lines of tethered horses and tired guards leaning against their tall spears, and eventually came to a small tent behind the king's pavilion. I kept in the wake of her, trying not to tread on the trails of her clean skirts.

"So all of the Halfling race are as naïve and affable as the young Master Meriadoc?" she wondered, laughing.

"Worse, Milady, if you don't mind my being forward," I said. "They are very comfortable with their ignorance, and they don't feel any need to change their way of living. However, they were friendly enough to me while I lived there, and I grew to love them over time."

We entered Éowyn's private tent and she made herself busy with some task, and I remained just within the entryway, watching with interest from behind. It was not long before I guessed what she was doing — preparing in secret to ride for Minas Tirith with the Rohirrim. Of course she would assume that I, being so young and obviously inexperienced, would not understand her actions. But sure enough, I caught the glint of silver mail in the candlelight and heard the thin clattering of a sword in its scabbard, and I smirked to myself. Éowyn concealed all this under a rough green cloth.

It made me think of my own situation; tomorrow, Éowyn, Théoden, and Merry would ride for war in Gondor, and I would be alone once more. I had no intention of finding some way to go along, for I knew the dangers that threatened both Middle-earth's existence along with my own. It was a miracle that I had gotten even this far, to Rohan, and I would not push my luck. Surely, I would be able to find some way to amuse myself in Dunharrow for a few days, while the fate of this world was being decided elsewhere.

"I fear that few will sleep tonight, but not all will seek the comfort offered by the company of others, as I have with you," the lady said with her back to me. "It is for the king that I worry most, although he has many in which he may confide. His burden is too great — he sees and feels too much, and I fear that he will not have the strength to survive this last ride."

I twisted about, peering into the gloom outside, and saw that the king's tent was still illuminated. I thought I perceived his noble silhouette pacing within. Facing Éowyn, I said, "He feels it is his duty to go, Milady."

"Others may be moved by duty," said the lady, straightening, her features growing taut with emotion, "but not all may act upon their inclinations. I have seen it happen before, and it is unfair."

"I am certain that Merry feels that way, too," I said. I flipped a bunch of my loose curls over my ear, speaking openly to her like she had asked, but somewhat gracelessly. "He wishes to go to Gondor more than anything right now, Milady, and the very idea of being abandoned distresses him greatly."

Éowyn crossed her arms defiantly, and the loose folds of her sleeves, slitting open at her elbows, fell elegantly at either side of her slender waist. "And why should Merry be left behind, when he has as much reason as anyone to fight for those he loves?" she asked of someone not present. She gazed beyond me toward the king's pavilion, repeating, "It is unfair."

Standing there forlornly in Éowyn's tent, I was assailed, with no warning, by terrible exhaustion. The day's events and the long hours I had spent awake suddenly slammed into the back of my head, making me teeter unsteadily.

"Milady," I said to Éowyn, attempting to swallow a yawn, "I think I must take my leave of you now, if you'll forgive me."

"Don't apologize for such a thing, Lady Jorryn," she said. "I thank you for staying with me. Go to your rest, now, and may your night be peaceful."

I returned her wishes for a good sleep, curtseying out of her tent and stumbling tiredly back to the one that Merry and I shared, which was a few meters away. I discovered the hobbit still sleeping, not much changed from how I had left him almost an hour before.

"See you in the morning, Meriadoc," I mumbled incoherently to him, climbing under my coverlets. I was asleep before I remembered to kiss him goodnight.

* * *

It was some hours later when an unfamiliar voice came through the foggy veil of my dreams, pulling me uncomfortably back into dull wakefulness. I shifted under my coverlet, my arms scratched by the rough wool blankets, and opened my eyes to almost complete darkness.

"Wake up, wake up, Master Holbytla," came the voice again, more insistent this time.

I sat up in time to see Merry roll over in his bed, and the man standing over him with a hand on the hobbit's shoulder barely spared me a glance. The soldier had a broad, commanding form, and he wore a helm garlanded with a long stream of horse tail hair. A green cloak covered his armored shoulders.

Squinting up at him, Meriadoc pinched the bridge of his nose, moaning, "What is the matter?"

"The king calls for you," the man answered.

"But the sun is not up," the Brandybuck protested.

"No, and it will not rise today, Master Holbytla," the soldier said forbiddingly.

I realized how little time I had left with my hobbit, and my innards went cold. Hurriedly, I leaned forward and drew back the hanging across our tent's entrance. There were many soldiers that I could see outside the king's pavilion, gathering with their horses on the field, and most of them were looking up fearfully into the darkening sky. Following their eyes, I balked; for the shadow that was cast over us was not a natural gloom caused by cloud or smoke, but some device of the Enemy. The heavens were filled with a sickly brown haze, and the earth below was black, entirely still. This was the Dawnless Day.

"One would think the sun would never rise again under this cloud," continued the man to Merry. "But time does not stand still, even without the sun — make haste!"

The man slipped by me, flinging the hangings out of his way, grumbling with forced courtesy, "Milady."

I quivered, looking back open-mouthed at Merry, whose features were gray in the deathly light. "It has started," I whispered.

We dressed and went to the king's tent with heavy hearts. The errand-rider of Gondor from the night before had reached Théoden before us, and he was there speaking to him as we entered. "It comes from Mordor, lord," he told the king. "It began last night at sunset, and all night as I rode it came behind eating up the stars. Now the great cloud hangs over all between here and the Mountains of Shadow."

I reached for Merry's arm and clung to it, and Théoden said, "So it begins. At least there is no longer need for hiding. We will ride the straight way and the open road with all our speed. Call the heralds, Éomer," Théoden ordered his nephew, nearby. "Let the Riders be marshaled."

There was a great commotion in the tent, and Merry and I were forced aside by the men who left to carry out the king's commands. They went with mechanical motions, all of them hopeless and forlorn. But the king remained, and he called to us, "Come here, my friends."

Merry and I went to stand in front of Théoden, and I gulped in a huge breath, calming myself. I was having difficulty breathing, not only because of the somber mood of everyone around me, but also because the air was so unbearably heavy and thick, and I felt stifled by the weight of the Shadow.

The king smiled fondly down on us. "I am going to war, Master Meriadoc," he told the hobbit. "I release you from my service, but not from my friendship. You shall live here, and if you like, you shall serve with the Lady Jorryn. Éowyn is to govern the people in my stead, and she will need the help of many."

Merry gaped, unable to believe that Théoden would make him remain with me in the refuge. "But — but — lord, I offered you my sword," he pointed out. "I do not want to be parted from you. All my friends have gone to the battle. I should be ashamed to stay behind."

"But you cannot ride our horses."

"Then tie me on to the back of one," Merry cried, waving his hands about, shaking my arm away from his in his anguish. "I will run after you and arrive weeks late, if nothing else."

I bowed my head to hide a grin, and Théoden chuckled. "Then at the least you shall ride with me to Edoras and look on Meduseld, for that way we will pass."

Still dissatisfied but unable to argue, Merry nodded jerkily and concentrated on his hairy toes.

Turning to me and taking my hand in his, Théoden said, "And to you, Lady Jorryn, I must also say farewell. You may dwell here as long as you wish, or anywhere else in my realm. Perhaps someday you will see Edoras, too, though I may not live to greet you there in the Golden Hall. Nevertheless, I shall not forget you."

I beamed at him, warmed by his praise, and said, "Thank you, lord. I will not forget you, either, nor everything you've done for me."

Théoden's mouth tipped, and his eyes were clear and gentle.

Éowyn arrived, dressed in the same white chemise, brown skirt, and dark coffee-colored corset from the night before, to take Merry and I to the makeshift armory of the camp. This part of the mountain plain was bustling with silent activity, and men hurried around us, grabbing armor and weaponry from shelves and racks.

"Aragorn requested that you be armed for battle," she told us. "I have granted his wish, as I could."

She gave to Merry a small helm, a leather breastplate, vambraces, a belt, and a round shield. All of these were engraved splendidly with symbols of the Mark, decorated with swirling patterns of gold and deep red. Horses pranced across the wide belt, and they reared their graceful heads on either side of the chest plate and vambraces. Merry accepted the lady's gifts with a grateful bow.

"Bear them to good fortune," said Éowyn. "Farewell, Master Meriadoc — yet maybe we shall meet again, you and I."

"Thank you, Milady," he said weakly.

I walked with Merry out of the booth and through what remained of the eerie morning, having been instructed to prepare his pony. The hobbit donned his new things while we went. He examined closely the figures running along the edges of his armor, then met my gaze and shrugged. "I don't think it suits me," he said cheerlessly.

Seeing him in gear of war was almost too much, and I was fighting back tears. "Nonsense, you look very handsome," I said, the words breaking painfully.

His eyes were on me, probing and concerned, but I focused on the path ahead. A moment passed, and he said, "I don't know what I'm doing, Jo, leaving you here — but you understand why I must go, don't you? You said yourself — and I have to find some way to get to — "

"Oh, Merry," I interrupted, adoring him so much it was unbearable, "please don't think of that. I just can't help being miserable on a day like this… and I don't mind being left behind, honestly."

Horns and drums echoed from deep within the valley below, and Merry said nothing more about it or anything else. We hurried to find Stybba in one of the main enclosures and get all of Merry's belongings secured, both of us as somber as we had ever been in each other's company. I fumbled with the straps on his saddlebags, and Merry had to eventually push my hands away to fasten them himself.

On the Firienfeld, the king's guard was amassed, and all was quiet except for the occasional beating of a hoof or the rattling of weaponry. The faces of the Riders were dark and cheerless, and the dust thrown up by the horses hung like a shade between me and every one of them. I looked at them, and my own heart quailed, for I knew that there would not be many of them to return. Merry led Stybba through their silent ranks, and I kept a pace after.

I saw King Théoden standing apart from the rest with Éowyn, their heads bent close together, her face cupped in the king's rough palms. He was clad in armor and hauberk, girt with sword, and cloaked in rich green. Éomer was close by, waiting with Snowmane, the king's horse. After they had spoken for a short time, Éowyn embraced her uncle, her eyes glistening with tears, and Théoden moved away to mount his horse.

Witnessing their goodbye also, Merry swallowed with effort and suddenly stepped in front of me, gripping my hands. "Tell me I'm doing the right thing, Jo," he implored.

I sniffed, managing to find a little courage in his childlike, trusting expression, and also in the way he now stood, taller than me and in Rohirric armor. I had no reason to worry, of course, although I would miss the Brandybuck terribly.

"Yes, Merry," I said, nodding steadily, "you are doing the right thing."

As we spoke, Théoden rode up behind us on Snowmane, towering over us both, still issuing calm commands to others — and I suddenly grasped the fact that I would not see the king again. I had thought I would have more time with him, but the morning had passed more swiftly than any could have guessed.

I ran to his side and reached up to him, crying, "My lord!"

The king had to lean downward a good deal to catch my fingers in his gloved hand. To my surprise, I discovered that he was smiling broadly under his helm, offering me all the hope that he had in him. "The time has come, Jorryn," he said kindly. "Keep Éowyn well."

I could not answer him — I could not say that I would meet him after the battle, I could not wish him safety — and so I stood there, on the verge of weeping for the king I loved. "Farewell, my lord," I trembled at last.

He released me, saying, "Farewell, Jorryn of the Shire."

Numb, I turned back to Merry, and a brief smile crossed his features, overpowering for an instant his uncertainty. He appeared so like the hobbit I had first rescued in the Shire that my resolve failed, and I began to cry. I knew I shouldn't, because seeing me so dismayed would destroy any hope he had. But the Brandybuck just took me into his arms and held me against him.

"I will see you again, my dear Lady, when everything is finished," he reassured me.

I was pressed against the hard surface of his breastplate and the protruding hilt of his sword, but the rest of him was soft and warm around me. He smelled of horse and leather. My cheeks burned as I fought back a sob, and I buried myself in the folds of his Elvish cloak. "Take care of yourself, Merry," I sniveled into his shoulder.

"Goodbye, Jo," he told me. I felt his lips brush my brow in a fleeting kiss, and then just as soon, I realized he no longer held me, for he had slipped from my hold to climb into his saddle. Théoden, beyond him, raised his arm, and somewhere in Dunharrow a trumpet-blast resounded. The king's great host began to move.

"Goodbye, Merry," I called, hurrying out of the way. I skittered back until I was off the path and nearer to the tents, waving uselessly at the men's backs. Merry, riding after the king's horse on his small pony, soon vanished over the edge of the cliff and began the long journey down the winding road.

"There go many that I cherish," came Éowyn's voice from my shoulder.

Not surprised to find her still where Théoden had left her, I sighed, sagging tiredly and rubbing knots out of my neck. "I know, Milady," I replied.

The Lady of Rohan folded her arms at her midsection, her fingertips playing across the loose fabric of her tied-up sleeves. Her gaze was distant. "You, Lady Jorryn, were once kept safely in the houses of the Elves in Imladris," she said randomly, "and yet you left them for the dangers of the East. It was your wish, though some would wonder why you would want such a thing."

"To be with my friends, and to help where I could," I supplied.

She nodded. "Now, I tell you that I have my own wish, for myself."

Her tone was grave, and I glimpsed resolve in her grim and beautiful countenance. "What is it, Milady?" I wondered, though I knew the answer already.

"It is only this, Lady Jorryn: to ride to war like my brother Éomer, or better like Théoden the king. And so I will — I will!"

With those last, hardened words, she whipped around, leaving behind the lines of Riders that were still departing the Firienfeld even as she talked. I hurried to pursue her, and she said over a shoulder, "Too often have I been left behind to tend to those who have no use for me! I will wait no longer, but ride into infinite renown with the other heroes of my people."

I leapt over the ashy remains of a bonfire and asked her disconnectedly, "Milady, what will I do in your absence? Who shall I say is governing the people?"

"You are a Lady of Rohan," she replied flippantly, "and so _you_ shall — but only in part. There is a soldier here, a captain of the Mark named Léodthain, who knows of my plans. I have asked him to take up the leadership of Dunharrow in my place, and you must assist him however you can. You will be in his service when I am gone."

We ducked into her tent, and she hurriedly threw off the dirty garment that had been covering her gear since the night before. She dressed in a coarse brown shirt and mail, removing her outer dress to reveal pants and riding boots beneath her woolen underskirts. Over all she put a stout cuirass of leather decorated with devices similar to the ones I had seen on Merry's armor. Her sword she had secured with a shoulder harness across her chest.

At a loss for words and out of breath, I heaved simply, "I will do as you wish, Milady."

"There is no life left for me here," she went on, fastening a shabby green cloak over her shoulders. "I will seek an honorable death with my uncle in Gondor."

"You may find glory on the battlefield, Milady, but I do not believe you will find death," I dared to disagree.

She glanced at me strangely, but said nothing, binding her golden locks into a slack bun, and fetching a rusty helm from behind her bed. "I am sorry to be parted from you like this, Lady Jorryn," she said, covering her head with the helmet, "but my time grows short. Though, if you speak truly, then maybe I will meet you once more, having won the valor that I so long desired."

She went outside and around to a tiny corral near her tent, where a single horse was still waiting. It had been prepared with all the necessary stores and possessions, and Éowyn mounted without hesitation. "Farewell, Lady Jorryn," she said, pulling the reins taut.

"Goodbye, Milady," I responded lifelessly.

Éowyn of Rohan spun her horse about and spurred it toward the path leading off the Firienfeld, catching the last groups of riders in the king's procession. I walked to the precipice's edge after her and peered down into the valley. Squinting into the dim morning's murkiness, I viewed the countless lines of men filing along the snake-like cliff path, my eyes tracking their progress to the flat plain and the thoroughfare leading through the middle of the camp. I saw the head of the enormous gathering come to the River Snowbourn and veer to travel along its course. There Merry and Théoden and Éomer must have been. No horn or call I heard sending them off, except the faint singing of the mighty river.

"_Forth rode the king, fear behind him, fate before him_," I said sorrowfully. "_Forth rode Théoden_."


	35. Into Shadow

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own any of Tolkien's characters or the world he created. The only character of mine (Jorryn) has decided to take a holiday in Tolkien's Middle-earth. No copyright infringement on any of J. R. R. Tolkien's works is intended. In this chapter I own Léodthain, Dréorhyse, and Denuwyn.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Okay, _yeah_. :) I don't know if I can express how sorry I am for taking so long. Real Life has been torture, and I had the worst case of writer's block in the history of forever during this spell between chapters. I've been extremely busy and stressed, as well. At any rate, I'm really sorry, and I hope you all aren't disappointed with this chapter in any way. It's really hard to write, I guess, when a certain quartet of Hobbits, a few Elves, or familiar Men are temporarily out of the picture. I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. Thanks for your patience, for reading, and for reviewing.

**

34

**

Being left in Dunharrow was not like the unbearable solitude I had experienced after the Fellowship's departure from Rivendell. In Rohan, I had seen one of my hobbits and been revived, and I had gained the love of a king. And, short-lived though both of these occurrences had been, I now felt no despair, other than that brought on by the ever-darkening Shadow of Mordor.

For the first few days following the removal of Théoden's companies, I escaped the desolation of the outside world by shutting myself in my tent and sleeping, catching up on the much-needed rest that I had lost since leaving Imladris. Huddled under my coverlets with the light of a candle flickering near my head, I succeeded only briefly in forgetting how terribly Middle-earth was suffering beyond the thin canvas walls of my shelter, until the power of the Shadow penetrated even my miserable haven, and there was no escape.

I awoke one morning with my blankets weighing down like solid lead on my tired form, and I rose to find the air thick and muggy inside my tent. Nearby, my candle was dead, and in the unpleasant atmosphere, I seemed to be looking at my surroundings through a gray veil. It was not cold, but I shivered as I lifted myself from my cot and dressed in one of my simpler silken gowns. I did not know what day it was or when I had last eaten.

"I guess it's about time to get up anyway," I told myself with a groan. My voice faded strangely into the emptiness, dying abruptly in the stifling air, as though I had never spoken. Unnerved, I tried again uselessly, "I probably need to find something to eat."

I sat down and began shoving my chilled feet into my boots, listening for any kind of movement outside. For all I knew, I could have been abandoned on the Firienfeld while everyone else moved into the valley below. How was I supposed to find this man, Léodthain, that Éowyn had mentioned to me before leaving? She had not left me with his location or his description, and I had not been summoned to meet him.

On the other hand, I had not thought to seek him out, either, and I was suddenly worried that the man would be angry with me for not offering my help sooner. What if he had needed something while I was sleeping? He would believe me to be irresponsible or untrustworthy. Hurriedly, I finished with my shoes and bundled my tousled curls into a tail at the nape of my neck — but the moment that idea came into my mind, I dismissed it and relaxed. I was just a girl, and the captain was most likely glad to have me out of his way for the present.

A minute later, I left the sanctuary of my tent for a world so cheerless and spectral, and so unbearably silent, that I thought I must be the only person alive in it. The sky had dimmed into a disgusting brownish-gray, and impenetrable clouds capped the mountaintops all around. Harrowdale was still and tomblike; no wind rustled the long grasses or played through the branches of trees. Walking across the soft turf to the edge of the precipice, I felt the air wrap itself heavily around me. I stood staring down on the tents of the Harrowdale refuge, noting how all of them lined up like solemn gravestones in the valley, and my stomach lurched. The force of the evil looming over my head nearly brought me to my knees.

I turned away, searching for signs of life in the camp on the mountain field. I saw little more than smoke curling up behind a cluster of tents around the king's pavilion, which was still erect just beside the main path. With no other idea of where I should go, I headed cheerlessly toward the unseen bonfire.

Reaching the king's pavilion, I caught faint voices coming from inside and found that I was not alone on the Firienfeld. There was no guard before the tent, yet I did not dare to enter. I remained just within earshot beside the hangings across the entryway.

The first words to reach me were low and gruff, edged with impatience and exhaustion, but brightened by a slight lilt. "So we've had no word from the strongholds in the North?"

"Nay, sire," came the abashed reply. "The scouts have reported nothing other that what you already know — that Sauron's forces are massed in the forest of Mirkwood and that they have most likely crossed into the Wold."

"Nothing further than that?"

"Not at present, sire, but we should hear something more by tonight. We have men riding back and forth from the northern posts every day."

The two speakers must have moved away from me, for their voices grew fainter, and I bent my head close to the flaps covering the entryway. At length, the first man said, "It has been four days since Théoden rode to Minas Tirith — we should know more of the Enemy's position and intent by now. Orcs could be roaming freely in the Wold as we speak, and we would not be aware of their presence until they ravaged Edoras and the rising smoke signaled their arrival."

"It is a long journey to the Entwood from Harrowdale, my lord," the second voice pointed out hopefully. "The scouts will come."

I licked my dry lips, frowning as I thought back through the fog of my dreams. I had not done much the day that Théoden had left us, but I had gone to bed late that night, unable to fall asleep until the earliest hours of the next day's morning — so I had probably been in bed for roughly three days. _No wonder I'm so famished_, I thought, rolling my eyes.

Shifting indecisively outside the tent, I glanced around the deserted Firienfeld and wondered if there were any other soldiers I could ask for help. I was wavering between knocking my fist against the stiff canvas of the pavilion or just sneaking away, when I suddenly realized that someone was preparing to exit the tent — one voice was calling a farewell to the other. I scrambled back from the entry and hastily smoothed my hair, waiting innocently to be seen by whomever I was about to meet.

The man who exited was shorter than many of the Rohirrim I had seen, stocky and broad, and I immediately associated him with the smaller, more obsequious voice I had heard. His weathered face was bare except for a neatly trimmed sandy-brown mustache, which matched perfectly the long locks falling in loose tangles about his rough features. He had a red woolen cape secured at his shoulders, thrown back to reveal a brown leather vest over a hauberk of scale-like armor. The soldier's bright eyes shone beneath furrowed eyebrows.

His head was down, and he was muttering something to himself as he secured the tent's hangings behind him, so he took no notice of me until he began to move away and almost tripped on the trains of my skirts.

While I struggled away awkwardly and he tried to avoid leaving too many footprints on the clean fabric, our gazes met. "Forgive me, Milady, I failed to see you there," he said promptly, and I murmured at the same time, "I'm very sorry, sire, I was in your way."

He smiled fleetingly, distractedly, giving me a fast bow and asking, "You wish to see Léodthain, I suppose, Milady?"

"I don't wish to bother him, sire," I said, hesitating. "I only want to know if I am wanted for anything."

Squinting at me, the man said, "I could not tell you, Milady."

I frowned and was about to thank the man and leave him hastily, when from our backs came an interjection, "But _I_ could, Dréorhyse."

The man with whom I was standing turned, straightening to attention, and I followed, finding that the captain Léodthain himself was standing in the entryway behind us with the tent's drapery held bunched in one of his fists. "Milady," he welcomed me, with a slight nod of his head.

I returned his sign of greeting, observing the line of his slender form that was silhouetted against the darkness of the tent beyond him. He was dressed like the first man — Dréorhyse, I think he was called, the one I had already met — in mail and armor fitted with the rich, colorful symbols of the Mark. Léodthain's hair was likewise golden, and a neatly trimmed beard covered his angular chin; both provided an appropriate frame for a stern, young face and a fierce stare. I guessed him to be in the prime of his life, somewhere between his mid-twenties and thirties.

"We had no sign of you these three days, Milady," he said, bringing my attention back to the present. "I was beginning to wonder if someone should be sent after you."

"I was tired, my lord, and confined to my tent that whole time," I apologized. "I do hope I wasn't needed."

"No, Milady, but we did not wish to disturb you either way," said the man, clasping his hands at the small of his back and stepping toward me. Reflexively, I leaned back, otherwise unable to look at him without my head tilted far back, like a gawping child. He continued knowingly, "You have gotten your rest, and now you seek other necessities. How may we serve you, Lady Jorryn?"

"Well," I said, stricken by his earnestness, "I would like some food, if it isn't too much trouble."

"Not at all, Milady," he said. "Where shall I have it brought?"

"I'll take it outside my tent — please."

"Is there anything in particular that you would request?"

"Only that which you can spare, my lord," I said modestly.

"And… might I have permission to join you?"

Our sentences had rallied back and forth so rapidly that I faltered for an instant, then said, "I — I would be honored, sire."

Léodthain bowed, saying, "I am glad to have finally met you, Milady. The Lady Éowyn spoke well of you, and I can see now why she did."

I felt my cheeks flush from embarrassment. "You are too kind, sire," I murmured.

"It is merely an observation," he countered, glancing back at Dréorhyse. He said to him over me, "I have decided to accompany you to the river post, Dréorhyse, if you don't mind."

"No, my lord," the other answered hastily.

Léodthain adjusted the belt about his thick waist, focusing back on me. "I fear we must take our leave, Milady. I will meet you within the hour?"

"Yes, sire," I said.

Without another word, the two excused themselves, and they walked off together down the main path, passing the gloomy standing-stones on either side without flinching. I watched them go, rewinding our odd conversations in my mind, unsure of how I should react to meeting the strange new pair. As I made my way back to my tent, I decided that Dréorhyse and Léodthain were two of the most eccentric Rohirrim I had ever seen.

Roughly an hour later, Léodthain met me at my tent, bringing with him the promised meal. I had spread a coarse blanket from my cot just beside the stakes holding my temporary dwelling to the ground, and had been sitting cross-legged upon it waiting for him since we had last talked. I had observed during that time that with the day's progression, movement increased on the Firienfeld. I had seen soldiers leading somber horses to corrals and errand-runners coming from the valley and going somewhere or other. No one had been remotely happy, and none of them had even spoken to me, but I'd been cheered to discover that I wasn't living alone in Dunharrow with two unfamiliar men.

Now, meeting me pleasantly, Léodthain handed down a plate of dry meat and vegetables before sitting himself unobtrusively next to me on the blanket. Muttering a perfunctory "thank you," I began to eat, using my thumb and forefinger as utensils, pinching bits of potatoes and carrots between them. The man at my side observed my habits briefly, loosing a flask from around his waist and handing it to me wordlessly. It was filled with a bitter wine, but I drank from it anyway.

We spent several minutes in silence, until I had eaten half of the contents on my plate. I tried to think of what one of the hobbits would say in my place — probably something about the food, or the climate — and eventually I ventured the question, "My lord, how long have you been in the service of Lady Éowyn?"

He averted his stare from the yellowish, blurry section of sky that should have contained mountaintops and replied, "I have served the Mark all of my life, Lady Jorryn, but I chanced to come under the Lady when King Théoden determined that Edoras should be emptied. I served her here until she left with the muster of Rohan."

I could guess none of his feelings from his bland tone, so I swallowed, pressing, "But would you have rather gone with them to Gondor?"

A corner of his mouth quirked, and odd brown shadows fell across his cheek, cast by his sharp, thin nose. "I would not say that — I wish only to serve King Théoden in whatever way he sees fit. At any rate, I have grown accustomed to my duties here."

"What _are_ your duties, exactly?"

"Leading the people of Dunharrow and ensuring their safety, guarding Edoras and watching over the surrounding area, and keeping the men here prepared for war," the soldier said, nodding his head at each listed responsibility. "Among other things."

I took in a deep breath of the musty air, narrowing my eyes curiously at him. "Ah — and what part will I have in all that?"

"What part would you like, Milady?" Léodthain smirked. "I meant for you to run messages to and from the people in the valley from time to time, and see that all is well with them."

"I can handle that," I said, contemplating the idea, "but perhaps I should ride with some of your men through the camp, first. The people don't know me, you see. I came in with King Théoden's company, but I doubt that I was noticed, and I don't know how they would react to hearing messages from someone they've never seen before."

"I understand, Lady Jorryn," the man nodded. "I will go with you this evening, if you wish."

"I would like that," I answered. "I'll do anything within my power to help, sire."

"That is well. You should be proud to be in the service of Rohan, Milady," he said. "King Théoden and the Lady love this country as much as those who serve it. We are fortunate."

"I do feel honored, my lord."

He paused, turning away once more, and then he murmured casually, "It has been said that you rode with the Lord Aragorn in the North. Is this true?"

"It is," I answered evenly, setting my empty plate aside and leaning forward with my arms about my legs.

"And then with the sons of Elrond Half-elven of Imladris?"

"Yes, I came to Rohan with them," I said, not missing a beat. I had deduced that Léodthain liked his talk succinct and quick, and it was taking some time for me to get used to it.

The man, pondering this, shook his head. "It is a wonder you were not born a Lady of Rohan," he said, "for it is not uncommon for them to ride in such companies. You say you come from the North — where, may I ask?"

"The land of the Halflings," I said, nostalgia coming into the words. "The Shire, it's called."

"I myself come from Aldburg, in the Eastfold. That is where the Lord Éomer grew up, as well."

"So you are close with him?" I asked.

"I am afraid not — I have spoken with him only on a few occasions."

"Ah… me too. I was closer with the king," I said ineffectually, realizing I had led us to a dead end, for I had no wish to speak of Théoden.

Léodthain remedied that quickly by coughing into a gloved hand and pushing himself to his feet. "Forgive me, milady," he said, "but I must leave you now. I will have your evening meal brought to you, and afterward we shall visit the valley. I trust you will be fine here for the rest of the day?"

"Yes, sire," I said, nodding at once.

He bowed and left me. It was then late in the afternoon, and I spent the few hours before supper sitting outside my tent alone. I knew should not have mentioned Théoden, for my heart soon grew heavy with regrets — why hadn't I said _this_ to the king, and why hadn't I done _that_ with him — and my last image of the elderly man smiling down at me atop his white horse kept coming to the front of my mind. I'd had so many chances to speak more with him, learn more of his personality, but like a fool, I had let them escape me.

A short time later, filled again with the good, plain food of Dunharrow, I took Bronwe to the edge of the Firienfeld to wait for our escort. Léodthain came with his companion, Dréorhyse, and we rode together in single file down the winding cliff path to the plain of Harrowdale where refugees camped. So steep was that trail that Bronwe was angled nearly perpendicular to me, and pebbles skittered incessantly down ahead of us, disturbed by the horses' hooves. It was a long trip, devoid of conversation, and I kept my concentration fixed mostly on a spot between my horse's ears, to avoid seeing the warped Púkel-men at every turn in the path. I took fleeting glimpses of the valley as we rode, and in time I realized that the encampment was lifeless as it had been from above. After nearly twenty minutes of riding, we entered a virtual graveyard.

No one could be seen from the path, but Léodthain veered away after we reached the first tent, leading us through a maze of extinguished fires and abandoned cookware. It was eerie to see the signs of Théoden's army still scattered everywhere — there were bundles of spears, standing tied together at their heads like odd teepees, and banners tied to leaning poles, drab and unmoving in the breathless air. All was utterly quiet, except for the muffled hush of the river beyond the trees.

I was beginning to wonder what good was in my being there, if no one was around to see me. "Where is everyone?"

"They are staying off the road, Milady," Léodthain explained.

We angled through several more rows, until finally I perceived weak hints of voices, and I saw a guard standing with a tall lance at the head of one column. These tents were in the shadows of a line of trees standing at the edge of the valley, concealed under their large, reaching branches.

The guard at the entrance to that hidden row bowed to us, then turned and gave a shrill whistle. Immediately, the flaxen heads of Rohan's women and children were thrust out into the open, and the three of us found ourselves pinned under the stares of countless eyes. Their fair faces were grubby, smeared with dirt, and their clothes were plain and ragged. The news that visitors had come into the valley spread rapidly down the line of tents, and more and more of the refugees appeared within seconds, craning their necks to see over those in front of them, climbing on whatever they could find to get a better view. I observed them from atop Bronwe, noting that most of the refugees were either women, elderly, or very young. All with the strength to fight in the war against Sauron were gone, save for those left to protect Harrowdale.

"People of Rohan!" shouted Léodthain above the noise of the crowd's curious murmuring. "I have brought you Lady Jorryn, a friend of the Mark. She is a ward of the king and a servant of the Lady Éowyn. Make her welcome here!"

Inwardly, I winced, not really wishing to be introduced so grandly, only to later surely disappoint the Rohirrim with my plainness. But Léodthain's announcement got the desired effect, and the people burst instantly into another raucous round of mumblings, speaking to one another in their own tongue, some of them motioning toward us excitedly.

"It seems you were wrong, Milady," Léodthain told me softly, bending close to my ear, "for they are saying that they recognize you as the girl that rode behind King Théoden several days ago."

"Oh," I said in surprise, my cheeks flushing with the thought of being familiar to Dunharrow's inhabitants. I ran my fingers distractedly through a lock of my hair, trying to ignore all the gestures being thrown my way. "I guess you didn't have to bring me down here, then, though I do still appreciate it, my lord."

"It is nothing," he said, flashing a teasing, cock-mouthed smile, "particularly because I have other business to attend to here. If you'll excuse me, Milady?" Not waiting for my response, the man nodded to me, dismounted, and walked his horse back to the guard standing at the head of the column of tents. The two began conversing, turning away from us.

Sitting next to Dréorhyse on my pony, I was not certain what to do next. Thank goodness that Léodthain had found something else to do here — otherwise I would have felt more troublesome than ever. I scratched awkwardly at the back of my ear, heaving a huge sigh for all my newly discovered uselessness. It was at this time that there came an unexpected tug on my skirt, and I looked down to discover a small girl standing at my right stirrup.

She was young — perhaps six years old — with a round, eager countenance curtained with a mess of tangled yellow hair, which may have been braided at one time but was already falling out. Huddled in a heavy woolen blanket and a loose, soiled tunic, she peered at me with large brown eyes framed by dark lashes, her mocking little mouth pursed. She was scrutinizing me closely.

"Hello," I said slowly, frowning bemusedly at her and nearly inquiring a second later, _Where on earth did you come from? _

Without pretense, she stated in a voice high and sweet and lifted by a sharp accent, "They say that you are one of the Holbytlan, Lady Jorryn."

I leaned toward her in my saddle, my eyebrows rising in surprise, and I marveled curiously, "Do they?"

"Yes, and they also say," she said, "that your horse was bred by the Elves — in some magical realm where you once lived."

Bronwe jerked her golden head and angled her ears as the young girl took hold of my bridle to inspect the curling Elvish figures decorating the leather. Her tiny fingers traced a leaf design, and once again she returned her questioning gaze to me, waiting for me to answer.

My lips twitched with amusement. "Well," I said gently, "I'm afraid your friends are correct only on one count. I am no hobbit, though I stayed with them in their country for a long time."

"Then your horse is not one of our own?" she prodded.

"No, she was raised in Rivendell."

Her eyes suddenly widened, and she breathed in astonishment, "Rivendell?"

I found myself smiling at her; I had not spoken with a child since traveling through Bree with my hobbits, and I realized that I missed the simple interaction. Ignoring the abrupt twinge of pain in my heart, I asked, "What's your name, little one?"

"Denuwyn," she pronounced proudly, clutching her blanket around her tiny form and peeking over a shoulder. "My family lives just there, next to the horses' pen."

I followed the direction of her nodding head to a white tent under the shade of a great tree, beside a crude horse corral. It was a plain tent, as small as mine and exactly the same, save for the red symbols that marched along the border of the entryway. The turf around the makeshift home had been flattened by the trampling of many hooves, and a wagon filled with unwanted supplies sat nearby.

"May I beg you to come down for a while, Milady?" Denuwyn continued hopefully. "I've never met anyone who knew Elves before, and I would be very grateful if you could tell me stories of your time with them."

Considering the offer, I turned my face upward, studying the shafts of dust-filled light that filtered down through the lean branches above. Evening had come upon the valley, and the little radiance that had managed to slip though Sauron's darkness now seemed almost friendly. Noting my hesitation, the girl gave my skirt another impatient tug, and I was reminded, strangely enough, of Pippin. I could not stop a grin, and, slipping down to the ground, I told Denuwyn, "I think I would enjoy telling you stories, little one."

* * *

Thank you again for reading, and please forgive me for taking so long. :) Please let me know what you think! 


	36. In All the Scenes that Memory Weaves

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own any of Tolkien's characters or the world he created. The only character of mine (Jorryn) has decided to take a holiday in Tolkien's Middle-earth. No copyright infringement on any of J. R. R. Tolkien's works is intended. In this chapter I own Léodthain, Dréorhyse, and Denuwyn.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Yes, you're not imagining things... this is indeed a new chapter of TWT! :) While that last installment was difficult, this one was fun to write and it came out rather quickly. I suppose Denuwyn makes it a little easier. The title of this chapter comes from the poem "The Childless Woman" by T. A. Daly, if you were curious. Anyway, here you get to see more of life in Dunharrow. Please enjoy, and please let me know what you think! Thank you to those who have already done it.

**

35

**

Before the end of that first evening I spent with her, I understood that Denuwyn would be the only joy for me in Dunharrow. Certainly, Léodthain had greeted me amicably when he met me on the Firienfeld, and Bronwe and I had enjoyed many journeys together before, but my new friend Denuwyn was a singular cheer to me then, during the dimmest of days. She was intuitive and keen, quiet and respectful, and very much like my hobbits when it came to interjecting questions during my stories.

I spent the entirety of my earliest visit to the people of Dunharrow with Denuwyn and her family, eating with them even though I had already had my supper and telling them about the few adventures I'd had. The girl was interested in everything I had to say, but especially things on the subject of Elves — I had figured out from my time with the Rohirrim that they had, until recently, looked upon Elves as magical, devious phantoms — and I was glad to reminisce with her. She asked about the manner of Elrond, the location and structure of Rivendell, and the names of all the Elves I had ever met. Within hours, her curiosity moved on to the rest of the lands west of the Misty Mountains, eventually reaching the Shire, and she was equally fascinated by the news of a country filled with inhabitants as small as she was. I had not spoken so much for such a long period since being with my four hobbits, and it was late before I went back to my own tent.

Oh… my dear hobbits. I mentioned them to Denuwyn only in passing, for how could I have described to her accurately the things that made me love them? There were no words for the playful singsong quality of Pippin's voice, the brilliance that lit up Merry's countenance when he smiled, or the determined glint that so often came into sweet Sam's eyes. And Frodo — I could not even begin to explain to the girl what I felt for _him_. I loved the Baggins now more than ever and missed him terribly, and at the time that the Shadow was at its darkest over Rohan, my last memory of his pale, beautiful face and smoldering eyes from the evening he left Rivendell sustained me. I could only imagine what I would do when I saw him again — would the hobbit be too changed, too tortured by the evils of the Ring, for me to take him in my arms and kiss his smooth brow? I both dreaded and yearned for that meeting.

I put my mind to work the next day in order to drive these painful things out of my head, running errands for Léodthain in the morning and forcing myself to do other menial tasks for the rest of the afternoon. I visited Bronwe and gave her a good cleaning, taking her on a gallop along the River Snowbourn, and I later tried to get myself into a halfway decent state. There was no way for me to fully bathe, unless I wanted to risk the river; the most I could do was scrub my arms, legs, face, and hair over a basin with some rough soap lent to me by Denuwyn's family. When that was done, I changed into another of my few spare dresses, wrote a bit in my diary, and made sure my tent was in order. There was little else to do, and Denuwyn found me sitting on the riverbank in the middle of the valley shortly afterward.

"Where do you get such beautiful clothes?" she asked straightaway, plopping down in the dirt next to me without any other greeting.

Weighing a small pebble in one palm, I squinted down at the girl. "They were made for me in Rivendell," I answered.

"Oh, so one of the Elves gave them to you," she nodded shrewdly.

"Yes, I think I got this one from my friend, Nátucien," I said.

"Who was he, Milady?"

I shook my head, correcting, "No, Nátucien is a _she_. She was sort of my helper in Rivendell — she showed me how to get around, and brought me food, and drew my baths."

"Oh," she said, nodding again, her mind already jumping to her next question. "Is it true that the Elves live forever?"

"Yes, it is," I said, shivering in the coldness of the evening. "Lord Elrond's memory stretches back ages, back to almost the beginning of the world."

"How is that possible, Milady? Wouldn't it be terrible to live for so long?"

"I wouldn't know, little one," I said. "Lord Elrond seems happy enough… and I think he will eventually find peace."

Taking all of this in, she pushed unruly hair from her round face, continuing after a minute or two, "I know more about the Elves than anyone else here because of your stories, Lady Jorryn. Thank you for telling me all of them."

Smiling slightly, I shrugged and tossed the pebble into the river below. "It was good to finally talk to someone, little one."

"Did the Elves give you anything else besides a home and your gowns, Milady?" the girl wondered, shifting underneath her rough, gray shawl.

The sky was darkening, and thunder rumbled somewhere in the East. I peered up at the angry, roiling clouds. I told her, "A name — they gave me a name."

Denuwyn's eyes widened, and her mouth opened into an "O," as though to speak. All of these formed large circles in her innocent countenance, and I almost laughed out loud. I had seen the expression several times, especially the night before.

"What is it, Lady Jorryn?" she asked excitedly. "What are you named among the Elves?"

"Mistadiel," I said, and the sound of it made me appreciate how much I missed hearing myself called by it. I frowned, turning away from the girl, my heart aching. There were so many things I wished to have back in my life.

"Mistadiel," repeated Denuwyn, the word rolling thickly off her tongue. She giggled delightedly, thinking she had accomplished some great feat. "Milady," she said eagerly, "do you think, if I asked, that the Elves would give me a name as well?"

I sighed tiredly, throwing another rock into the Snowbourn. "I could not tell you, little one."

Late that night, my body refused to let me rest, and I got up to meander about the gloomy camp on the mountain plain. At that time, the Shadow could serve me some practical purpose — the shrouding of the Dwimorberg. If I didn't think about the Haunted Mountain looming somewhere above me, I was able to roam comfortably around the Firienfeld. My ramblings ultimately brought me to Éowyn's abandoned tent.

It was exactly as she had left it, with the thick, silken blankets on her cot thrown back, disheveled, and the brown skirt that she had taken off the morning of her departure still tossed in a careless pile nearby. Her trunks were open, her sword was gone. All that remained were the rich dresses and royal gowns of the White Lady of Rohan.

Pushing back the flaps of her tent, I entered, stepping lightly on the rich furs strewn across the ground. I had only just cleaned my own quarters earlier that day, and in comparison, Éowyn's looked like a catastrophe. I leaned down reflexively to pick up her rumpled, discarded skirt. Folding it and opening the closest trunk, I stopped at the sight of the clothing I discovered inside.

"Wow," I breathed to myself, running my fingertips over the deep green velvet of the gown on top. The one underneath it was just as beautiful, an inky blue wool decorated with tiny diamond patterns in gold, and I encountered several more after digging deeper. I had not seen Éowyn in any of these, and I suddenly found myself wishing that I had brought a few of the nicer, specially-made gowns given to me in Rivendell, instead of only traveling garments.

I left all her things intact, but as I finished tidying the rest of the lady's space — repacking and closing her chests and straightening up her bed — I began to wonder whether or not Théoden's tent was in a similar state. Had everything been left untouched since he had left, or had Léodthain already rearranged all of the king's belongings? If so, the man could not be blamed, for no one yet knew that Théoden would not be returning.

The next morning, I rose early, although I really felt like spending the day doing nothing in bed. I had been dreaming of sitting with Frodo in Bag End's front parlor, and to be wrenched from such a warm memory was not pleasant. I sat up in my cot with a groan, shielding my eyes from the brightness of the morning light streaming in through the entryway of my tent.

I stopped in surprise, lowering my hands. _Morning light, here?_ Slowly, I stood, reaching out to part the flaps, not daring to hope.

A cry came from the other side of the camp, carrying across to me, "It is broken! The Shadow has gone! Awake, Riders of the Mark — the Shadow is gone!"

And, sure enough, I saw the Sun rising far away against the jagged silhouette of the mighty Starkhorn, pouring wonderful, warm radiance into Harrowdale, blinding me after so many days of endless dark. Basking in the golden light, I stood there with my shaking hands gripping fistfuls of canvas, nearly laughing at the beauty of the sunrise. I could see the mountains on the horizon — magnificent, shining, breathtaking mountains capped with snow and surrounding me on all sides. How long had it been since I had seen the sky and the mountains — weeks, months? Or just six days?

Not bothering to change out of the hobbitish shirt and breeches that I'd been sleeping in, I threw on my boots and ran into the field where the men of Rohan were celebrating the coming of the dawn. I met Léodthain and Dréorhyse there, and they greeted me with broad smiles.

"Mordor has suffered some blow," Léodthain said, his yellow hair ruffled by the fresh spring breeze coming down from the mountains. "Sauron's power is weakening!"

I didn't know what could have happened to shred the Enemy's dark shroud, but I didn't care. The sunlight was hope restored to the people of Middle-earth, and it meant that all would be over soon, very soon, and I would see my friends again!

Needless to say, there was much rejoicing in Dunharrow on that glorious day. I accompanied Léodthain when he visited the valley immediately after a hasty breakfast of dry bread and cheese. Even Bronwe was excited, tossing her majestic head at the Púkel-men all the way down the cliff path, and I found myself laughing into the clear, brightening sky. Our party rode down through the middle of the camp at a leisurely pace, but I heard the Rohirrim singing merrily before we were halfway to their hiding place under the trees. Their rejoicing lifted my heart even further.

And at exactly the same moment, though none in Rohan (including myself) knew it, King Théoden reached Minas Tirith with his great host, and he rode across the Pelennor Fields shouting, "Arise, arise, Riders of Théoden! Ride now, ride to Gondor!"

* * *

"It is said that you were a friend of Gandalf Stormcrow, Lady Jorryn."

Running my hands across Bronwe's smooth flank, I stood on my tiptoes to see Denuwyn, who was grooming my pony's opposite side, or as much as she could reach of it. She peeked up at me, diverting her attention from her brush for only a moment.

It was a rare occurrence for Denuwyn to visit me on the Firienfeld, but that day she had; she'd walked the whole way up the mountainside with one of her family's dogs and discovered me grooming Bronwe at the camp's main corral late in the morning. Léodthain had come with me and was a few steps away, tending to his own horse, and he caught my gaze, arching an eyebrow when he overheard the child's statement. Happy sunlight was shafting down to us through the dancing tree branches, and wind was tugging at Bronwe's mane and my curls.

"You know of Gandalf, little one?" I returned curiously.

She nodded her fair head. "I lived in Edoras, Milady, where he was known to come and go for a time, but I only saw him once. And he did look like a crow to me, like his name — he wore a pointed hat, and long gray robes."

I smirked nostalgically, thinking, _Yeah, that's Gandalf all right_.

Léodthain put in, "It was said in Aldburg that a visit from the Grey Pilgrim was a sign of grim times, and undeniably, it was he who brought King Théoden tidings of the Dark Lord at the beginning of it all. Did you indeed know him, Milady?"

Remembering the wizard's rich voice and clear, twinkling eyes, I replied softly, petting Bronwe's neck, "Yes, I am glad to say that is one of my dearest friends."

"Truly, Lady Jorryn?" Denuwyn squeaked, making my pony jump at the high and unexpected noise. "Did you ever see him use his magic?"

"It depends on your definition of magic," I laughed. "Gandalf knew more about the whole world than anyone in it, and he could do quite a few things with fire. His fireworks are famous in the land that I come from. Other than that, I never witnessed any of his more advanced feats."

"What about the Lord Elrond? Did he have the same powers?"

"Elrond is known more for his wisdom, little one. I would say that Galadriel of the Golden Wood has talents that you'd consider closer to magic."

Léodthain, heaving his weathered saddle onto one shoulder, quipped, "Perhaps it would be better for you to ask the lady of something she does _not_ know, little one."

Denuwyn seemed to consider this, but she chose to lead the conversation down another path. "I don't think I've ever asked how you came to be in Rohan, Milady."

"I thought it was obvious," I said, moving to join her on the other side of my pony. "I told you I am in the service of your country."

"But you weren't always — I know that from your stories," the girl pointed out patiently.

"All right, then — I came here from Rivendell to help all my friends who are fighting for Middle-earth. Along the way I managed to come into King Théoden's company."

She gave me a brief, condescending glance that showed just how much she believed _that_. "How can you expect to help your friends, Milady? They are far from here, and you can't fight. You don't even have a sword."

"I do too have a sword," I corrected defiantly.

Her features crinkled into a frown, and she said, her high little voice lifted with childish arrogance, "Even so, you were not born a lady of Rohan, and our noblewomen are the only ones who are taught to fight and be Shield-maidens."

Too amused to be hurt by her bluntness, I retorted, "Oh, and how would you know that?"

"I just do," she said evenly.

I heard Léodthain chuckle behind us, and my mouth tipped. "Well, I won't argue with you," I relented, "but I will say on thing more. Not all hope comes from one who bears a sword — and that is the sort of help that I am offering to my friends."

At this, Denuwyn was uncharacteristically silent. I looked down and noticed that her brush was moving slowly, and she had allowed her bushy hair to fall across her face. At length, she said, "You have seen much, Lady Jorryn."

I leaned forward, resting my elbow on Bronwe's back, overcome by the sudden weight of my memories. "Yes, Denuwyn," I answered, "I have seen much."

There was little news in the period between our little grooming party with Denuwyn and a morning three days later, and so I had nothing to bring to the people of the valley all that time. Dunharrow had grown to be a world unto itself, disconnected from everything outside except for the occasional scout that came in or departed.

The daylight hours were painfully slow, and I didn't even know what day it was. I had no idea what was going on in Middle-earth or how close we were to the End. I risked asking Léodthain about it one afternoon, but I ended up getting dates in some odd reckoning that I had no hope of converting to my old Shire calendar. Thus my journal was filled with entries like, "Did nothing today. No idea of the date," or "Met a girl with blue hair ribbon — she let me borrow some and braided my hair. Think it's Wednesday."

It was a few days after Bronwe's last grooming session when Léodthain called me to the king's pavilion. Dréorhyse was the one to shake me from my dreams before the sun was even up enough to lighten the Firienfeld. "Wake up, Lady Jorryn — Léodthain wants to see you," came his uncertain voice.

I groaned and pushed myself into a sitting position. "What, right _now_?" I grumbled, making an effort to focus on the thickset man.

"It is very important, Milady," he said, and I noticed that he was nervously adjusting his clothing and armor, refusing to stand still over me. "Please come, and hurry."

Throwing a cape over my sleeping garments, I rose and followed Dréorhyse through the camp. Despite the early hour, many of the men were already awake, and every inch of the field was lit by torches and fire-filled braziers. The deep, bluish sky was showing the barest hints of dawn. The man led me silently past the sullen groups of soldiers, taking me between the grim standing stones lining the short route to the pavilion.

It was the first time I had been in the king's tent since he had left it. There were the animal skins across the ground, and the colorful banners hanging from the canvas ceilings, and Théoden's makeshift throne. Upon entering, I immediately saw Léodthain, sitting in a small, carven folding stool just next to the king's majestic, unoccupied chair. He looked very tired, with his large form resting loosely and slumped in his seat, half of his visage covered by the hand cupped pensively over his jaw. The firelight flickered ominously over this dark scene.

I stared for a second, my heart turning to ice, then asked, "What has happened?"

Blunt and unmoving, the man said, "Orcs have attacked Dwimordene."

I stared at him blankly, trying to place the unfamiliar name. "Where is that, lord?" I questioned, meek.

"The magical wood, Milady," he said, not looking to me, "at the banks of the Great River, near the mountains in the North."

"Fangorn?" I guessed.

"No, Dwimordene is north of Fangorn," he said absentmindedly.

I gasped, realizing what wood he was talking about, "Oh, my lord, you mean Lórien!"

"Whatever its name, it has been invaded. Do you think aid should be sent?"

The suggestion was so stony and emotionless that I couldn't help but feel that he didn't care at all what happened to the Elves of Lothlórien. "I think," I said, "that the Lord Celeborn and the Lady Galadriel can handle it themselves, Milord. They have not yielded to any enemy in all the years they have lived in Lórien."

"Very well," Léodthain agreed, sighing. Dréorhyse shifted awkwardly behind me, obviously wanting to be somewhere else.

I could not understand what was going on. Frowning, I examined all of the pavilion that I could see, yet I found nothing out of the ordinary. Beyond a separate silken hanging to my right, I perceived Théoden's neatly made bed in the shadows, and a few paces to my left rested the wooden stand on which the king's armor had once been arranged.

Finally, I couldn't bear it any longer, and I declared, "I can tell that's not all, Milord. What else has happened?"

Léodthain moved at last, lifting his head to glare directly at me, trembling with contained emotion. "Lady Jorryn," he said with difficulty, "we have received word that King Théoden was slain in Gondor four days ago."

I felt darkness creep into my vision, and a bitter, poisoning grief filled my breast, but I beat them both back. Yes, I had known this would happen, I had been grieving for the lost king for weeks — however, nothing could have prepared me for the anguish in Léodthain's voice. To hear him say that Théoden was dead was more painful than it should have been, and I clutched my cape around me, unable to speak.

The captain went on, sounding even more inhuman now that he had told me his news, "Please go dress in whatever clothes your country feels is appropriate for mourning, and then you may ride into the valley and tell the people."

"I have no clothes of mourning," I said numbly.

"Did not the Lady Éowyn leave behind all of her ceremonial gowns?" the man demanded, bristling. "I am certain that she carried with her a black cloak; you have my permission to borrow it."

Feeling sick, I attempted a curtsey, saying, "Yes, lord."

I left the tent, nearly running into Dréorhyse, walking back to Éowyn's empty quarters with my concentration bent on the ground in front of me. I came to Éowyn's tent and went to one of the chests I had rifled through before, and sure enough, I found the large, deep gray velvet cloak that Léodthain had described.

With a heavy heart, I went to my tent and changed into the darkest of my few gowns, donning Éowyn's cloak over it and drawing the thick hood over my head. It was simple and undecorated, and it ended up being about two feet too long for me, but I hardly noticed. I let it drag and catch in the grass as I went to saddle Bronwe.

I rode my pony slowly down the cliff side, and before I had reached the bottom, the sun climbed over the tips of the mountains, intense and dazzling. In my sadness, I didn't hide myself in my hood to block out the brilliance. Instead I squinted out, thinking that Théoden would never see another morning like this one, and that it was unfair to have such a noble man stolen from the world. I bowed my head, breathing deeply.

"Goodbye, my king," I muttered, and I spurred Bronwe on.


	37. Doth Not the Sun Rise Smiling?

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own any of Tolkien's characters or the world he created. The only character of mine (Jorryn) has decided to take a holiday in Tolkien's Middle-earth. No copyright infringement on any of J. R. R. Tolkien's works is intended. In this chapter I own Léodthain, Dréorhyse, and Denuwyn.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Yes, indeed, you have discovered a brand new chapter! About time, eh? Once again, I apologize for how long it took me to get this out... I've been working and traveling a lot for the last couple of months, and I haven't had time to do much on the side. I set about a million deadlines for myself before this chapter was finally done. Anyway, in case you've forgotten, Jorryn is still in Dunharrow. At the end of the last chapter, the people of Rohan received word that King Théoden was killed at the Battle of Pelennor Fields. This chapter starts five days after that. The poem at the beginning is the first stanza of a work called "Weep You No More Sad Fountains," by an anonymous author, and the title for this installment comes from the same poem. Please enjoy, and please let me know what you think!

**

36

**

_Weep you no more sad fountains;_

_What need you flow so fast?_

_Look how the snowy mountains_

_Heaven's sun doth gently waste._

_But my sun's heavenly eyes_

_View not your weeping,_

_That now lies sleeping_

_Softly, softly, now softly_

_Softly lies sleeping._

I watched the rain from just within the entryway to my tent, sitting cross-legged on my cot with a blanket wrapped around me to ward off the early morning chill. I had been like this since dawn, feeling as though the downpour had been going on forever, and I was beginning to grow tired of it.

"Why don't you give up?" I growled to the indistinguishable clouds above.

This particular storm had been hanging over Dunharrow for two days, and currently, it showed no signs of letting up; droplets had been pattering on my soaked canvas abode for forty-eight hours straight, leaving me with nothing to do all that time except lug my narrow sleeping pallet to the tent's opening so that I may amuse myself with the happenings of the Firienfeld. Unfortunately there was nothing going on outside, other than the despondent pacing of a horse tethered near the main path. Needless to say, I was very bored.

The rain had come just after I'd told the people in the valley that Théoden had died in Gondor. I'd been completely alone, and though it was extremely difficult news to give, I'd done so, feeling it was my duty to carry out a simple task and fulfill my only purpose in Harrowdale. As the word spread through the camp, I was met with a flurry of emotions — anger, disbelief, distress — and for a long time afterward I'd been unable to leave the Rohirrim, struck with a barrage of questions. _How did it happen, who did it, where was the king now?_ Thanks to my knowledge of the Story, I was able to answer most of them despite the fact that Léodthain had told me nothing.

I winced as a crack of thunder filled the cold, heavy air, squeezing my head between my hands. My tent rocked unsteadily in the gentle wind, and I sighed, catching through the parted entryway a draft of mist on my cheeks, feeling sick as I remembered how horrible that day had been.

Yes, it was true that the Enemy's darkness had gone from Harrowdale the very moment that Théoden had reached Minas Tirith, but after the Rohirrim had heard that their beloved king had perished, the Shadow might as well have returned with full force over the valley. The people's joy of a few days prior was a sharp contrast to what everyone felt now — misery and hopelessness. Of course, the rain didn't help any, and I couldn't stop myself from wondering whether or not it was another device of Sauron to dampen the spirits of those fighting against him.

"Yep, I guess everything's dampened well enough," I murmured wryly, shifting on my cot to lie flat, turning away from the weak gray daylight.

_Any day now_, I thought, _any day, this will all be over and I'll be with my hobbits again…_

Closing my eyes and burrowing into my pillow, I tried to push those thoughts out of my head as another faint rumble of thunder came through the sunless sky. My attention was drawn for only a moment. Though it hurt greatly to ache for them so, it was too hard to forget my friends, and a now familiar prayer sprang from my heart to the front of my mind — _please let Frodo still love me_.

The fear had pounced on me, and now it refused to let me alone. Too often had I thought of all the things Frodo was suffering through in Mordor — torture from both the Ring and the Orcs, and the looming almost-certainty of his own death — and I could no longer convince myself that everything would be the same between us in the end. What would I do if he turned me away and sought comfort only in himself?

"Lady Jorryn?"

I rolled over and sat up to see Dréorhyse, standing drenched within the frame of my tent flaps, slightly bowed in order to better perceive me. He blinked against the trails of water running down his chiseled countenance and licked his lips. "Milady, Léodthain requests your presence in the pavilion, if you are not too busy."

I snorted, turning to Merry's cot (which, since his removal from Dunharrow, been serving as a space for my belongings) to retrieve the oversized cloak I had borrowed from Éowyn. Throwing it over my head, I told Dréorhyse, "No, I'm not busy at all, sire. Lead the way."

The two of us hurried through the shower to the Firienfeld's main tent, and though it was adjacent to mine, Dréorhyse and I were thoroughly sodden before we were allowed to enter. Léodthain greeted us amiably as we shook rain off ourselves like wet dogs, and I immediately went to stand next to the captain over the hot coals in a nearby brazier.

Shivering, I asked right away, "What is it, my lord?"

The man stood aside to allow me more room and said, "It seems that both the servants of the Enemy and your friends in Lothlórien are both more resilient that we imagined. The wood has been assaulted once more — two days ago. How long do you think the Elves can withstand such attacks?"

"That is all the news you have?"

"It is all."

I sniffed, shaking my head forlornly and stretching my hands toward the warmth of the coals. "My lord, I am not an authority on the art of war. I feel certain that the people of Lothlórien will survive, one way or another, because they have done so before without any outside aid. You must send help only if you think it is necessary, sire."

"My orders were to remain in Rohan," nodded Léodthain, reflecting, "and so I suppose I shall, if you are sure that your friends will hold out."

"I am sure, lord."

"Those under Sauron's service are cruel and relentless," said the man, a hateful growl edging the words.

"Where do so many attacks come from, my lord?"

"From Dol Guldur, in Mirkwood, I would guess. It is said that the Enemy had a stronghold there once, and his Orcs have obviously reclaimed it."

"Where in Mirkwood, sire?" I persisted, wanting truly to understand.

"Well, you must know how expansive Mirkwood is, and — "

"No," I said firmly, uncharacteristically interrupting him, "I have only seen maps that show parts of it."

Obligingly, he spread his arms to illustrate the size and said, "The wood stretches nearly the entire length of the Misty Mountains — an amazing distance. It is why it proved such a successful hiding place for Sauron and his supporters when he first gained power. Dol Guldur is in the southernmost reaches of Mirkwood."

"And… how close to Rohan is that?"

"Over three hundred miles," he said, catching the trace of apprehension that I had shown, "so there is no need to worry. The Enemy has already tried to invade Rohan, but he was thwarted by the Ents that had remained at Isengard, and I wager that his Orcs will not try again. You know of the Ents, I assume?"

"I have heard of them," I answered deftly, coughing.

His eyebrows twitched. "Anyhow, you do not need to worry," he reiterated. "We are not in any immediate danger here."

Free from anxiety, I expelled a lungful of air. I opened my mouth to say something, then stopped, briefly warning myself to hold my tongue and not reveal anything, but a second later giving a careless mental shrug and speaking anyway. "Well, I don't think we have to worry about the Enemy succeeding in Lórien or Rohan. And Mirkwood will be taken back from him for good, soon enough."

I sensed his confusion at my sudden confidence, and his gaze remained on me for several more moments, until at last he went on, "How are you, Lady Jorryn?"

I thought I heard genuine concern in the question, and I shot I look in his direction, musing, "Ah, I'm all right, but I'd be doing better without the rain."

"You are not alone — anyone here would say the same, no doubt."

"Well, all of Dunharrow has been somewhat sober since — for the last couple of days," I said, catching myself just in time. Théoden's name had not been mentioned once after the morning that we heard of his death, and I didn't want to risk upsetting Léodthain. I had never seen a man become so depressed as he had been on that dreadful day.

He glanced down at me, knowing exactly what I had meant to say. "Indeed… sober," he said darkly. He looked to Dréorhyse, who shuffled his booted feet uncomfortably behind us. "I wish at times," the captain said, "that I could have been as close to the king as you seemed to be, Lady Jorryn."

"I was his ward, that's all," I said, waving it off uneasily. "I begged for him to let me stay in his company and to give me some purpose to my presence in the meantime. I was in his way and bothering him constantly. I've made many friends that way, you know."

Léodthain gave a short, dry chuckle. "You are a mystery, Lady Jorryn. I have no doubt that it was because of these friends — these Elves, and Rangers, and wizards — the king had so much respect for you."

I didn't know what to say, so I coughed and rubbed my hands uselessly together over the dying coals.

In the late morning of the next day, the rain slowed enough for me to venture down into the valley to visit Denuwyn. There was a mist in the air then, and I could actually see the sky; it was still a violent sort of grayish-blue, darker at the undersides of the roiling storm clouds, which were low and moving sluggishly. From what I could see, the haze appeared to go on forever, both upwards and outwards. There was no break in them at the edge of the world, and the thunderheads were piled one on top of the other above us in varying shades of black and gray and white, like some wispy, majestically domed ceiling, but at the moment they seemed docile… almost brooding, as though they were waiting for something to happen. By the time I had reached the Rohirrim camp under the trees, the sporadic precipitation had almost completely stopped, and the air had grown thick and balmy.

My young friend met me at her family's tent and informed me that her mother was making stew, and that I should stay for an early lunch. I agreed, leaving Bronwe tethered near Denuwyn's mild-mannered dogs, and we soon found ourselves seated a short distance away from the camp within the trees on a mound of damp earth.

Denuwyn had, many times before, leapt into conversations with me by asking very curt and pointed questions. The girl was completely lacking in tact, and that day was no different. The moment we had plopped down on the ground, she demanded of me, "Are you in love, Lady Jorryn?"

Stunned, I could only blink at her and say, "What on earth are you talking about?"

"I told my mother that you were in Rohan to help your friends," Denuwyn informed me patiently, "and she said that you must be in love with at least one of them to want to come so far, just so you can be closer to him."

_Oh, boy_, I thought, sneaking a peek of the campfire where Denuwyn's weathered, but obviously astute, mother was stooped over a pot. I wasn't sure how I could respond to such a question, especially from a child.

"Who is he, Lady Jorryn?" the girl prompted, nudging me with both of her tiny hands.

I cupped my chin in my palm and tapped my fingertips upon my mouth. Perhaps it would be good to finally _talk_ about Frodo with someone, even if Denuwyn couldn't possibly understand — the last time had been with Merry, and it had not been very comforting.

At last, after much internal debate, I removed my fingers and said to Denuwyn, "He is one of the Halflings."

She grinned gleefully and squeaked, "Is he the one who came to Dunharrow with you? I saw him riding beside you on a little horse behind the king when you came through the camp. He must be the one."

"No, no, no," I muttered quickly, biting my lip embarrassedly. "That was Merry — he's just a very dear friend."

"Then who is it, Lady Jorryn? Which of the _Holbytlan_ do you love?"

I had never in my life had a conversation like this one, and despite the poise I had acquired so long ago from my hobbits (which would have helped in every other situation imaginable) I found myself blushing. For a second, I could only bumble over the words. "Well, he's — he's fighting against the Enemy, in the east."

"Who is he fighting with, Milady? Gondor, or Rohan?"

"He is further east than that," I said vaguely, not wanting to frighten her by mentioning Mordor.

At that instant, Denuwyn's mother appeared with two bowls of stew for us, not saying anything, although her dark eyes were flashing as she bent over me. She had probably heard what I had been telling her daughter.

I shook my head after her, still astounded, and concentrated on my meager lunch. The stew seemed to have the color of dirty water, but I was not surprised. The valley's food supply was running low, and I had survived on meals like this for days.

The girl beside me drank noisily from her bowl. "But he must _be _with someone, in the East," she insisted, after swallowing. "Even the greatest warrior of the Mark could not take on whole armies by himself."

"He's not fighting — in a normal way, exactly," I said, and I gave my stew a tentative sip. It was sharp and unpleasant, and as soon as I had swallowed, I felt indigestion hit me like a punch in the stomach. Setting the bowl aside, I went on swiftly, "He is striking at the Enemy from within. And no, he's not alone — he is with one of my other friends, another of the Halflings."

"Two Halflings against the Enemy's armies, all by themselves?" she echoed, her tone laced with disbelief. "How do you know they are still alive, Lady Jorryn?"

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out images of the two hobbits struggling up the side of Mount Doom — dirty, starving, and beyond hope, beyond help — and I gulped.

"Denuwyn…" I began exasperatedly, rubbing my forehead and staring directly at her.

But I stopped.

Something had changed in the few moments that I had closed myself off from the world, as I worried for my hobbits. Now that my eyes were open, I saw.

There was a hint of gold on the eastern horizon, glowing brightly behind the suddenly illuminated mountains. Rays of sunlight shot clear across the earth from the rising sun, coming visibly over the snowy peaks, through the trees, filling the valley with warmth and dazzling splendor, shining in Denuwyn's curls. All at once, the rain-soaked wood glistened fiercely as though it were covered in diamonds; light was on the leaves, in the grass, on my bare arms. A cool, fresh breeze washed over us, like the first breath of a new world, lifting the sagging tree branches and bringing the aroma of flowers and pine. Above us, the clouds were torn to tatters by the wind, and they were quickly gone, revealing a vacant blue sky. I felt a heaviness lift from my heart and the darkness leave my vision, and an elation like none I had ever experienced filled every part of my being.

And I knew.

"Oh, Frodo," I whispered, my gaze riveted on the beautiful sunrise. "Oh, my dear Frodo, thank you…"

Stunned, excited voices were rising from the camp behind us. Some of the Rohirrim had begun to sing, grateful for the sunshine. They were exultant, even though they were not aware, as I was, that it was all over, that the war was finally finished, and that Sauron had been defeated after so much despair, so much death —

"Frodo!" I cried, throwing my hands to my face and dropping to my knees on the spot, tears rushing to my eyes. Unable to stop myself, I sobbed violently into my palms, overcome with so many emotions at once that I was overwhelmed. All of the pain and the worry and the fear that I had borne for months had been taken from me in an instant, and I almost didn't know what to do with myself. I was numb with relief, but my spirit was soaring, and the smiling faces and shining eyes of my hobbits were at the front of my mind.

_It is over_, I kept thinking. _It is over — dearest Frodo, it is over._

Denuwyn came to me, and I sensed the slight weight of her arm across my back. "Lady Jorryn, what has happened?" she asked.

My head came up, and I sniffed weakly, swiping at my nose with the back of my wrist. At the sight of Denuwyn's concerned expression, I realized how silly I was behaving, and a sudden laugh welled up in me, exploding from my lips in a burst that surprised and confused my little friend even more.

"Nothing has happened, little one," I quavered, rubbing wetness from my cheeks. "Everything is all right, now… that's all."

Leaping up, I spun about and took Denuwyn in my arms, and we whirled together around our little space in a blissful dance; and she laughed and cried with me, though she almost certainly didn't know why she was suddenly so happy.

Everything was too wonderful to grasp immediately. The magnificent banners of the Mark no longer drooped and sagged damply in sodden, dreary colors, but now flew proudly in a crisp breeze against the backdrop of clear sky. The trees were still dripping, yet it was pleasant, and the whole valley smelled clean and rich and new. I knew just what I would do when I returned to my tent — I would put on my best Elvish gown, leave Éowyn's cloak behind, and go straight to Léodthain to tell him of Sauron's downfall.

It was several hours after midday by the time I decided to start up to the Firienfeld, and I was bubbling over with pleasure. Like so many times before then, I had been forced to keep my knowledge of the Ring to myself, for no one in the valley was aware of what had transpired in Mordor that morning, except me. It was true that the people's hearts were filled with joy, but they did not yet know the source of their happiness. I guessed that none there even knew about Frodo and the Quest begin with, so there would have been little use in telling them of the hobbit's success anyhow.

Denuwyn and her family had persuaded me to celebrate with them for a good part of the day, and they later begged me to eat supper with them, but I declined. I was eager to return to the Firienfeld and give my news to Léodthain. The sooner the captain knew of our success, the sooner I would be able to see my friends. I wasn't certain how I was going to reach Gondor or with whom I would be traveling, but I would manage it somehow. Perhaps I could request a guide from Léodthain…

Practically drunken with happiness, I was unwilling to worry about it for long, and my ride up the snaking cliff path was an agreeable one. Even Bronwe's mood was lifted considerably, and she pranced skillfully up the inclined trail, dancing around pebbles without stumbling once. I hardly noticed the Púkel-men at every turn; they were no more than piles of ancient stone to me then. It took nearly half an hour to reach the top, and Bronwe and I came up to the Firienfeld in a blaze of sunshine. The mountain plain had become a basin filled with golden light, and I had never seen it look so glowing and welcoming, even on that morning so long ago when the first horrible Shadow had departed from Rohan.

My pony took me between the standing stones lining the wide trail, bouncing to a stop in front of the main pavilion and my smaller tent just beside it. As I brushed my windswept hair from my face, I heard a deep, familiar voice call to me from the pavilion.

"I wondered when you would return, Lady Jorryn," Léodthain said to me without delay, coming and raising an arm, offering to help me down.

I beamed at him and took it, sliding from the saddle. "I'm sorry, my lord, but I was celebrating with the people of the valley."

He arched his eyebrows and said, "We have done our own share of merrymaking here. I allowed an extra cask of ale to be opened, and the men have been enjoying themselves immensely, though none here know what has caused this turn of events. It is evident that Sauron's power has diminished."

"Yes, lord, it has," I said evasively.

The kindliness remained in his weathered countenance, and he gestured back toward the rest of the camp behind him. "The men have been singing all day," he informed me, "and I doubt that their energy will flag this evening. Will you join us?"

Something Hobbitish in me yearned to be dancing and singing with the Rohirrim, but I shook my head. "No, sire, thank you — I might just go get out of these dirty clothes. Where can I find you when I'm done?"

"I will be in the pavilion. I'm awaiting word from our scouts, and they should return before sundown."

He returned to the king's tent, and I went to my tiny quarters a short distance away. For a time, I relaxed on my cot, reveling in the happenings of that day, wondering what my friends were doing that moment on the other side of the world. I would be with them soon, and that thought was enough to make me want to weep all over again.

Like I had planned, I soon got up and peeled myself out of my soggy dress to change into the nicest and lightest of my Elvish riding garments. I felt refreshed and clean from the rain and the cool mountain air, and so I had no desire for a bath.

I was attempting to braid my untamed curls into a tail at the nape of my neck, when I caught a strange sound floating up from the valley. My hands stopped in midair, and I inclined an ear toward the faint buzz of noise. It was almost like a song, sweet and high, and I thought I discerned words within the little that I could hear.

The song faded a second later, and I finished my braid swiftly, wanting to discover the sound's source before it had gone from Harrowdale. Leaning over to pull on my boots, I glanced up at just the right moment to perceive a large shadow passing overhead, putting me in momentary darkness. The canvas sides of my tent fluttered in the wake of whatever had flown over me, and I froze.

There was rustling outside, near the pavilion, and I stood poised by my closed flaps, ready to yank them aside within a second. Straining to hear the weakest murmur, I put my head to the thick fabric and waited.

"I have brought word from the Captains of the West for the Rohirrim," came an abrupt voice, sharply, but not nastily. The words were very even and uninflected.

There was a moment of heavy silence, but then Léodthain spoke, and for some reason, he sounded very small. "I shall receive it gladly, my lord."

"The world has changed," the first speaker informed him. "The Realm of Sauron is no more, and his Shadow has been destroyed forever. His Dark Tower has been cast down; his Black Gate is ruined. There is a king in Gondor, and he has bade me to give these tidings to all the lands of the Riddermark."

What I perceived next could have only been Léodthain, as the full force of this news struck him. He expelled a jubilant and unexpected cry, shouting across the Firienfeld, "Sauron has been defeated!"

The shout echoed within all the crevices of the mountainsides surrounding us. I could remain by myself no longer, finally able to rejoice for our victory with someone, and I threw back the hangings to run out.

I nearly collided with the folded wing of the enormous Eagle that was standing over Léodthain.

I gaped, my jaw falling slack at the sight of the immense bird towering several meters over me. His feathers, gleaming of black and brown and gold, were sleek as glass, and his curved beak was sharper than a sword's edge. I glimpsed his scaled feet, which were big enough to smash me with one prompt, neat blow, and I took a stumbling step back. As I stared, the Eagle moved only to rotate his regal head, fixing a giant amber eye on me, and my breath caught in my throat.

And then, to my profound astonishment, he bowed to me and greeted, "Milady."

I opened and closed my mouth dumbly, unable to believe what the majestic creature had just done. In all my time in Middle-earth, I had never seen an animal that was gifted with the power of speech, and I had not imagined that such a thing was possible. To hear words come out of an eagle's beak was staggering.

"L-lord," I finally stammered in reply.

His knifelike talons dug deep trenches into the soil as the bird turned back to Léodthain and went on swiftly, "The King of Rohan and the White Lady of Rohan are awaiting their countrymen in Gondor. Shall I tell them to expect you there?"

"Yes," Léodthain answered at once. "But Harrowdale must be emptied, and my people must return to their homes. I will be in Minas Tirith in seven days, if not sooner."

My heart cried out in distress — a whole week!

However, the Eagle was satisfied, and he spread his wings to leave us, saying, "Very well."

"Wait!" I exclaimed, just before the great creature had lifted from the ground. When he paused, turning his piercing glare to me, I asked it falteringly, "So you — you're returning to Gondor, my lord?"

"Yes, Milady," the Eagle answered.

"Will you see Gandalf the White there?"

The bird shifted his weight from side to side, stooping to put our heads on the same height. His razor-like mouth hovered centimeters from my nose. "Do you have a message for Gandalf, Milady?" he asked.

"If you could only tell him, my lord, that I am…" I hesitated, forcing myself to remain under the Eagle's scrutiny, trying to think of something refined to say. After many seconds of consideration, I said, "Please, my lord… tell Gandalf that the Lady of the Shire is now in Rohan, and that she is coming to him in Gondor."

If the Eagle had been blessed with the ability to smile, I am certain he would have; at any rate, I noted the flicker of warmth that passed through his otherwise icy eyes. Without another word, he nodded once to me and shook out his broad wings, pushing off of the ground with a single, massive _whoosh_.

I watched the bird grow small against the radiant atmosphere. "I'm coming to you, Frodo," I whispered after him.

* * *

The following day was filled with wonderful frenzy as the people of Dunharrow prepared to return to the homes they'd abandoned. Léodthain ordered his men to begin tearing the camp apart, and within a few hours, nearly all the unused tents had been dismantled and piled together near the main road. Those that were still in use by the refugees were under the trees and would be taken down the next morning, when everyone was to depart. From my lofty height on the Firienfeld, the valley appeared barren and empty below me after the soldiers' work was finished. Excitement crackled palpably in the air. 

There was less to be done in our smaller camp. My few belongings were packed in under an hour and arranged neatly on Merry's empty cot. I was also charged with gathering all of Éowyn's things, but since I had already begun that task quite a bit earlier, it was not difficult.

The second day after the Eagle had come to us, Léodthain woke me at dawn, and I found Bronwe saddled and packed just outside my tent. I had time enough to dress, roll up my blankets, and exit my little shelter before it was taken to pieces right behind me.

"Are you alert enough to ride, Lady Jorryn?" Léodthain asked me, climbing onto his horse.

I clambered drowsily into my own saddle, yawning, "Yes, Milord."

As we descended below the lip of the cliff on the narrow trail, I remembered just in time to look back on the mist-filled mountain plain, and something jerked a little in my breast. I became attached to places much too easily, I decided later.

"We will reach Edoras by noon," Léodthain told me, riding ahead of and below me on the slanting path, "where I must settle a few affairs prior to our journey to Gondor. We will ride swiftly, but easily, and we should reach Minas Tirith in the last hours of the fifth day. Can you ride dawn to dusk, Lady Jorryn?"

"I have before," I said.

"We will do so, then," the captain decided. "It will be a company of a few men, including myself and Dréorhyse, and we will be traveling lightly. But if you ever tire, Milady, please tell me, for there is no real haste — "

"Oh, but there is," I interrupted. "My friends are in Gondor."

Coming to a bend in the trail, Léodthain turned in front of me, and I caught a lighthearted smirk curling the corners his mouth.

We left the Hold of Dunharrow by the very road that had brought me into it, except that we turned to follow the rushing waters of the Snowbourn northward out of the valley. I recognized the high gorge cut into the mountainsides, above the waterfall plunging into the river; that way I had come with Théoden and Merry, so long ago. Now I was riding with Léodthain and his guard, with all the people who had been driven into the refuge following behind. The roar of their voices filled the valley.

Many of the Rohirrim left us as we passed the smaller settlements of Underharrow and Upbourn along the river, and no more than half of their original number went the rest of the way to Edoras. It was a long journey for the people to make, but I heard none of them complain — they were all too glad to be going home for that.

Just prior to midday, with the sun swinging high overhead, we came out of the mountains, and the beauty of the land before us astounded me. I had gotten my only other view of the Riddermark from Helm's Deep, and I had forgotten how breathtaking it was during my time in Dunharrow. The flat grasslands lay stretched out for miles, smooth and gray, broken occasionally by dark patches or masses of tumbled boulders. My old Misty Mountains were visible toward the northeast. Ahead, the Snowbourn leapt downhill like a silver ribbon, and as I followed its course down into the plain, I first saw Edoras, the courts of Rohan.

The settlement stood on a lonely knoll, mounting by itself over the even lowlands. There was a glint of gold on the hilltop — _Meduseld_, I thought, and I remembered Théoden's stories. We drew closer, riding fast along the river, and I could distinguish eventually the small dwellings scattered on the lap of the hill, and the taller rocky outcropping upon which the Golden Hall was perched.

We came to the high dike and toothy wall surrounding the hill, and we were forced to travel around its circle to the city gates. The road took us away from the Snowbourn and through the Barrowfield, where all the kings of Rohan were buried in small mounds covered with white flowers; Théoden would rest there soon, I knew. We approached the gates, and two grand, carven horses, facing each other in an arch with their noses together above the main entryway, welcomed us. Men in the watchtowers positioned down the wall shouted to Léodthain and hailed us merrily.

It was a short trek up a paved lane through the ancient city, past the simple houses, around the stony mount to its crown and to the steps leading to the Golden Hall. Thinking of how he had described it to me, I stared up at the king's court, a strong wind ripping at my cloak. Meduseld was thatched with yellow straw, and its façade was supported by many mighty archways and pillars. Much of the graying wood was etched with twisting knotwork and painted with burnished gold, and vibrant banners bearing devices of the Mark flew proudly at every corner of the hall's granite platform. The windows looked toward the east and west.

I suddenly realized that Léodthain was waiting for me, his gloved hand on Bronwe's bridle. "Welcome to Edoras, Lady Jorryn," he said to me.

I dismounted and followed the captain wordlessly to the broad steps, and we ascended to the terrace of the Golden Hall. The elegant doors were opened for us, creaking with old age; I was led into the dim chamber, and I quickly took in the flagged floors, the wooden columns decorated with black and red diamonds and circled with more golden patterns, the sunlight slanting in through high windows and dust-filled air, and the large iron hearth that rested in the center of the wide space. Standards hung from the beams running the length and width of the room — several others bedecked the wall behind the small dais where Théoden's throne was located.

"You may sit here, Lady Jorryn," Léodthain said, breaking into my reverie and indicating a table and chair near the empty hearth. "We will eat in a moment."

The man disappeared through a door to the right of the throne, leaving me by myself in the hall. Dazedly, I looked around, made silent by the sheer weight of the place. This was Théoden's home, an ancient dwelling, and at one time or another, many of my friends had been here. It was good to be sharing something with them again, no matter how belatedly.

Another soldier brought food to me, and Léodthain returned shortly afterward. I had been too hungry to wait for him and was going quickly through my soup — _real, fresh soup, and warm, newly baked bread_ — as he set himself opposite me.

"I didn't have breakfast, sire," I said, wiping my chin embarrassedly.

"You're quite all right," he dismissed, placing a bundle on the tabletop next to my bowl. I could only tell that the unknown object was made of soft red material, for it was neatly folded over itself and tied with a frayed cord.

Léodthain's meal was deposited before him, and he started on it right away. Chewing on a bite of bread, I waited for him to explain his mysterious parcel, but he said nothing, so I pointed with my spoon and wondered, "My lord, if you don't mind my asking… what is that?"

The captain swallowed, barely glancing to the bundle. "I have a request, Milady," he said, choosing to ignore the fact that I had spoken first.

I frowned, both annoyed and curious. "What is it?"

"In the past, you have ridden in companies as a Lady of the Halfling race, as well as a Lady of the Elves," the man said, his fingers bending around the base of his wine goblet. The weak light of the hall threw his face into odd shadows, making his straight, thin nose even more distinct than usual. I felt his gaze pierce me. "Milady, I would have you ride now as a Lady of Rohan — if that is something you could accept. King Théoden gave you the title, and it is yours to bear however you will."

Perplexed, I continued to frown at him, and I said, "I'm not sure I understand, sire."

"This is a dress that belonged to the Lady Éowyn when she was younger," Léodthain said, pushing the bundle across the table, "along with a brooch carrying a symbol of the Riddermark. I am certain that you would honor my people by wearing them."

My mouth dropped open, and I reached slowly for the gifts. I had done so little in Rohan, and I didn't believe that I had earned the right to wear the colors of the Mark. "My lord," I breathed thankfully, "the honor is mine."

Once I had rushed through the rest of my lunch, I went into an empty room to change. I untied the cord around the bundle and allowed the gown to spill to the ground in a cascade of blood-red velvet. It was of simple design, with tight sleeves, a button-closed front, a low bodice, and a full skirt. The fabric gathered at the front of the v-shaped neck to form what was almost an oversized hood, draping loosely over the shoulders, lined with a darker shade of crimson, almost black. The bottom of the dress, the edge of the cowl, and the down-pointed hem of the bodice were all embroidered with thick swirls of pale yellow. I donned this new gown and pinned my old cloak over it with the Rohirric brooch — it was polished gold, the shape of a sun with a horse's head in the center.

I met Léodthain, Dréorhyse, and several others on the open stone terrace minutes later. Cloaked in green and girt with swords, they bowed low when they saw me coming, and I could not stop my cheeks from flaming.

"It suits you, Milady," one of the men told me.

"I deserve neither such gifts, nor such compliments, sire," I replied, twisting my hands together at my waist self-consciously.

The soldiers chuckled and returned to their previous conversation, and I quietly turned my focus on the horizon. From there, on Meduseld's front steps, I could finally see the mountains we had left behind. They were giant, ebony masses capped in white, rising very suddenly out of the earth from the otherwise level land, like jagged teeth. No gradual foothills preceded them… they were simply _there_, marching on in every direction. I loved them for all their rugged splendor.

"Lady Jorryn!"

I looked down to discover that Denuwyn was standing at the bottom of the long stairway below us, her arms open and waving to me. I picked up my skirts and ran to her, the two of us laughing for no reason whatsoever.

"You look just like a shieldmaiden," she said, gawping at my new outfit.

I giggled and embraced her. "It means a lot to have you admit that," I murmured into her tiny shoulder.

She pulled back and reached for my hand, crying in her little, lilting manner, "Come, Lady Jorryn, you must see my home! You can help us clean, and then my mother will make us supper!"

"Oh, Denuwyn, I don't — "

"Come on, Lady Jorryn, my family is waiting!"

I twisted about to see Léodthain and the others watching us, a couple of them coming down after me to their horses. I held Denuwyn's hand tightly, but did not move. "Little one, I'm not staying in Edoras."

"What?" she blurted, and relaxed her grip on my arm. "Where are you going?"

"To Gondor," I said, "and to the ones I love."

The girl stopped, her eyes growing wide and her lips trembling, though she tried to hide it. "You — you are leaving Rohan, Lady Jorryn?"

Kneeling to be level with her, I met her gaze and nodded.

She collapsed against me, her diminutive form wracked with long, shuddering sobs, and I sensed a damp warmth on my forearm. "You will go — you will leave us — and I shall never see you again!"

"Shh, Denuwyn," I murmured soothingly, brushing my fingers through her hair. "You know that isn't true. Even though the war is over, I will always be bound to Rohan. What's more, I still have to ask the Elves what you would be called among them. I will have to come back to tell you what they name you."

She sniveled and inquired, muffled, against my sleeve, "You are really going to ask them about me?"

"I'll tell them all about you," I promised. "Lord Elrond, even."

She dragged herself away from me, lifting her mussed head. Suddenly feeling extremely guilty about leaving my little friend, I wiped her tearstained cheeks with one corner of my cloak. Beyond her, I noted that Léodthain's men were atop their horses already. There were eight of them altogether, and all of them were unfamiliar except for Dréorhyse.

The captain himself came from behind us then, and he paused on the step that Denuwyn and I rested on. "Lady Jorryn," he said, the slight, expectant lift in his tone making it obvious that he wanted me to hurry.

It was time to leave. I coaxed one last smile out of Denuwyn by tweaking her nose, and I assured her, "I'll see you again, little one."

"Goodbye, Lady Jorryn," she burbled.

I pushed onto my feet and brushed by the girl, striding down the last few steps and going to where Bronwe was tethered. My pony had been watered and fed, but all my things had remained packed. "Ready for another long trip?" I murmured to the mare, patting the short hair on her neck.

Heaving myself onto my pony, I took up the reins and faced Léodthain, nodding to signal my readiness. The captain whirled his own horse around and raised an arm. "To Gondor!" he said.

And we rode. 


	38. Minas Tirith

** DISCLAIMER: **I do not own any of Tolkien's characters or the world he created. The only character of mine (Jorryn) has decided to take a holiday in Tolkien's Middle-earth. No copyright infringement on any of J. R. R. Tolkien's works is intended.

** AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Not too bad, right? I mean, I actually managed to get a new chapter out within a year's time of the last! Want some more good news? Chapter 38 will be out even faster than this one. I wrote this chapter and the next as one big hunk, thinking I could get Jorryn to Cormallen, but it ended up taking 20 pages to do. In addition, the story felt rather rushed in those 20 pages, and I hate doing that to these characters. I think they deserve better. Therefore, I have split that one huge chapter into two separate chapters, the first of which you have before you now. Jorryn reaches Minas Tirith, and the reunions begin! Thank you very much for reading, and please let me know what you think! :)

**

37

**

Minas Tirith.

It had been five days of hard riding, but we were there at last, looking upon the gorgeous city as night cast a blanket of darkness on Middle-earth. None in our company could say that they had ever seen anything like it, including myself. At the head of the group, Léodthain pulled his mount to a stop to gaze from atop the hill we had just crested, staring across the smooth expanse of the Pelennor Fields to the citadel.

One of the other men, whose name was Behydan, muttered something in Rohirric to himself, and I couldn't hide a smile. The many days I had spent with these soldiers had brought me close to them. We had made our camps each night at the side of the Great West Road that ran along the feet of the White Mountains, and during those brief times of rest I had talked long with all of the men. I found them to be soft-spoken, kindhearted, wonderful companions, and brave warriors of the Mark. When I admitted one day that I knew nothing of the lands through which we traveled, many of them immediately began telling me the history of places we passed, and I learned much about Rohan and Gondor. They pointed out to me all the beacon hills — Calenhad, Erelas, and others I soon forgot — and they told me when we left Rohan's borders behind in the Firien Wood. On that last day, we had ridden through the deepening evening at the edges of a dark forest, our progress marked with the sighting of the last beacon hill, Amon Dîn.

Now, finally there, my breath turned to vapor in the chilly air, emphasizing the slow sigh of wonder that left my lips when I first saw the great citadel. So this was the city of Gondor's kings — this was Aragorn's realm.

The city rose stark and white against the black, shadowed mountains, radiant in the moonlight. Twinkling cleanly and brightly, stars filled the inky sky, forming crowns of diamond for the snowy mountaintops. The whole of the Pelennor was bathed in twilight, and mist was floating in the hollows between the field's rolling hillocks. An enormous wall, the Rammas Echor, encircled the wide realm of the city, running from one side of the Fields to the other at the mountains' feet, clinging closely to the shores of the River Anduin. I heard the famous waters rushing faintly in the distance.

Léodthain spurred his horse on, and the rest of us followed him down the knoll to the nearest gate in the Rammas Echor. We were allowed to pass through by a solitary watchman, and we were told that our company was expected in the city. Obviously, the Eagle had come here long ahead of us.

Soon we were galloping freely across the Pelennor Fields, capes and manes flying back in the wind. For the most part, the Fields had been cleared of the bodies and debris that had fallen in the battle several days ago, but I noticed several signs that had been left behind — a spear, wedged haphazardly into the ground, long furrows in the earth where some animal or instrument of the Enemy had dug up the soil, and trampled grass, the final resting place for a man of Rohan or Gondor. Where had King Théoden fallen, I wondered?

The imposing structure of white stone loomed over us, nearly as tall as the mountain at its back, filling every part of my vision as we came closer. The city was built on numerous levels — I counted seven — with high walls and many towers at each colossal tier. Uncountable windows, like blank eyes, stared out at us, and smoke billowed from hidden chimneys. Right down the center of the towering metropolis, cutting the whole city in half from top to bottom, was an outthrust of sharp rock, an extension of the mountain on whose knee the citadel was nestled. It appeared as though a giant had tried to take a huge butcher's knife to the city and, despairing of ever succeeding, had left it there for the rest of eternity.

Making that connection, I didn't dare to think of Minas Tirith as an enormous layered cake, though a long-buried Hobbitish part of me certainly did consider it. The citadel was too ancient and too beautiful to be tarnished by such a thought.

The very highest point of the city was at the tip of the Tower of Ecthelion, which stood, a polished pillar of ivory, shining in the moonlight. I could not imagine what was seen from such a height. I knew that up there, under the White Tower, the king made his home, and I could not wait to be received by Aragorn in his own hall.

I tried to ignore the weight of the ghostly, bone-white city bearing down on me, and I searched for more watchmen on the first wall ahead of us. Though I saw none, I heard the mighty city gates groaning long before we had come to them, and they were open for us within seconds. A shout traveled down from above the entryway, greeting, "Welcome to Minas Tirith, Riders of Rohan!"

A second later, hooves clattered on flagstones, and we found ourselves in an expansive courtyard. A Gondorian soldier was there to meet us, swathed in black and wearing a winged helm of silver, waiting near an elevated granite statute of a horse and his noble rider. Beckoning to us, he said, "Your coming is known to us, Riders of Rohan, and we have prepared for it as we could. The king's houses are in the seventh circle of the city; you shall stay in his guest quarters until you are summoned elsewhere, perhaps to Ithilien. There, in Cormallen, the Captains of the West have remained since the Battle of the Morannon."

"And where is the White Lady of Rohan, Milord?" asked Léodthain, bringing his mount even with the soldier's without hesitating.

"She has been in the Houses of Healing these many days," the soldier answered. "She suffered from the Black Breath after defeating the Lord of the Nazgûl and was nearly lost, but the Lord Aragorn called her from death. We will pass the Houses on our way."

The soldier took us up through the rings of the city, and in the end I was wishing that elevators had been invented in this time. The way was long, crisscrossing from one end of the wall to the other, first east, then west, back and forth under remarkable archways until we reached the topmost level. The city was dark, and we met no one on the streets, although it was evident that the citadel was preparing for the return of the king. Bundles of vibrant flowers were set beside doorways or on windowsills, and banners bearing the White Tree of Gondor hung at every available spot, white and gold and black. However, scars of the recent battle still riddled the city — rubble littered the lanes, and I could tell their origins when I looked up to find a chuck missing from a wall or turret overhead.

I was busy observing the patterns on a sable standard flying from a rooftop, struggling to see through the dimness the tree and stars embroidered on it, when I heard our guide speak to me.

"You are one of the _periannath_, are you not, Milady?"

I jerked around to see his eyes on me. They were shining under his helm. From one of my few lessons with Frodo, I remembered that _perian_ was the Elvish word for hobbit, and I shook my head at the man. "No, sire, though I'm proud to say that I have many friends who are of that race."

"We have a _perian_ in the Houses at this moment," the man informed me. "He was wounded with the White Lady of Rohan, and is being hailed as a hero of the Battle of Pelennor Fields."

I beamed happily, and we turned onto the sixth level of the city, coming briefly under the shadow of the dark gateway. A soldier standing guard there with spear and shield nodded to us. I glimpsed the gigantic shape of the Tower of Ecthelion on the circle over us.

"I am afraid I can't think of his name at the moment," our guide went on distractedly, returning the guard's signal.

"Meriadoc Brandybuck," I provided. "He is one of my dearest friends, sire."

"Then you will meet him soon, Milady," he said, pointing suddenly to the side, "for the Houses of Healing are opposite you."

I followed his gesturing arm and saw that the paved path bent to the left around a modest gray building set against the outer wall. Lights burned in the lofty windows, and a shadow moved within. Merry was in there, so close!

Bronwe's feet struck the road noisily, and I turned eagerly to Léodthain and the Gondorian soldier. "May I see him now?"

"He is asleep, to be sure, Milady," our guide answered, frowning curiously.

I swallowed and pointed out, "He doesn't have to be awake for me to _see_ him."

"Morning is only a few hours away, Lady Jorryn," said Léodthain gently from the man's other side. "We have had a long day of riding, and none know when you will be sent for to join your companions — will you not take some rest while you can?"

"I would rather not, my lord," I said respectfully.

Léodthain's distinct profile was illuminated against the black sky as he looked to our guide and sighed hopelessly. "Very well, Lady Jorryn, if it is agreeable to all present," he consented. "We will meet you again in the morning."

The Gondorian soldier jumped from his saddle and motioned for me to do the same, while the others waited. I slid deftly to the ground, and he took Bronwe's reins to steer her, along with his horse, to the entrance to the Houses of Healing. I trailed behind, running two fingers through my hair excitedly, watching the man take the few steps up to the majestic, carven door. He knocked softly.

A heavy moment of silence passed, and then I perceived the sound of a lock being turned behind the thick wood. The door opened, and someone said from the gloom inside, "My lord?"

"Well met, Ioreth," replied the man, kindness in his tone. "Please forgive me, but there is a visitor for the _perian _— from Rohan."

The door creaked the rest of the way back, and I peered into the countenance of an elderly woman. Her white hair was thin and wispy, framing her square jaw and soft cheeks, and her stooped figure was huddled in a chocolate-colored shawl. A sharp, perceptive gaze fell on me, and her knotted hands toyed with the fringe on her wrap.

"I was led to believe that the people of Rohan were all flaxen-haired," she said frankly, the words crackling with age.

"I am not a native of that kingdom," I said, taking a step forward. "I merely serve under her king and her White Lady."

The elderly woman lifted an eyebrow. "I would say that you look more akin to the _periannath_ themselves, though I have not seen more than two in my lifetime."

Wishing that everyone would just _move out of my way_ and let me go to my hobbit, I bit off a brusque rejoinder, saying instead, "Yes, I lived in Merry Brandybuck's land, the country of the Halflings, before I came to Rohan. Perhaps something of them rubbed off on me."

"Of course, I wouldn't know. At any rate, this _perian _does not have your liveliness, and I am sure there is little use in seeing him now. It's very late, and everyone is sound asleep — "

"_Please_, Milady, if I could just go to him — it has been so long — "

She lifted her shoulders in a frail shrug. "I don't see what point it will serve, but if you really must — "

At last, she moved aside and opened an arm for me to enter. Impatient, I moved by her and glanced back at the Gondorian soldier on the front steps.

"I will make certain that your pony is housed well in the stables," he said, bowing.

"Thank you," I said gratefully, and Ioreth shut the door behind me.

The first room of the House was a wide foyer of smooth marble, lit by candles. An open doorway directly in front of us led out into a green courtyard with towering parapets and bubbling fountains. Two other passages branched left and right from the entrance hall. The whole structure was built in a sort of "U" shape, settled against the main outer wall where I guessed one could look down upon the other five levels of the city. Ioreth took me to the left corridor.

"The Lord Faramir sleeps here," she told me, waving at the closed entry of the first room. "I suppose you don't know about the terrible business with his father, the Steward?"

Too tired to lie to her, I said, "Yes, I heard of it, in fact."

"Our poor Lord Faramir suffers greatly for his father's madness. If not for the Lord Aragorn, he would have died along with your two friends, and Gondor would have lost two Stewards in a day. Lady Éowyn is here," she said abruptly, pausing before the second door. Walking on, she stopped in front of a third doorway and reached for the brass latch. "Here is your _perian_, Master Brandybuck."

I held my breath and stepped into the gloomy chambers, waiting for my sight to adjust in the darkness. After a short time, I could make out the muddled shapes of chairs, a bulging backpack atop a side table, and a large bed in which a single hobbit slept.

"Dear Merry," I said tenderly, going to his side.

Seating myself in one of the high-backed chairs nearby, I observed his slender form underneath the blankets, daring to graze his hands, which were folded over his slowly moving chest. The window at the top of the bed allowed a little light, and the Brandybuck was bathed in a silvery sheen, the radiance catching in his curls and paling his skin, gloom pooling under his dark lashes and in the crevices of his protruding ears. He was unchanged, if not a bit older.

"Will you be needing anything, Milady?"

I started, remembering that Ioreth was in the doorway watching me. "No, thank you, I'll be fine," I murmured.

The latch fell back into place behind the woman, and I was left alone with my Brandybuck. Carefully, I pulled over another chair to prop my feet upon, and I covered myself with my cloak, settling in for the few hours left before dawn.

I was not even aware that I had fallen into my dreams, until I sensed small, warm fingers in my palm and a soft touch at the inside of my wrist, and I stirred, jarred further awake by a pain shooting through my neck. Light glowed faintly beyond my closed eyelids.

"I would have gladly switched places, you silly girl, if only you'd woken me up," chastised a familiar, thick, accented voice. I opened my eyes to see Meriadoc Brandybuck holding my hand from where he sat in his bed. His mouth quirked into a lopsided grin, and he wondered unceremoniously, "How are you, Jo?"

I gasped, sitting up quickly and scooting closer to him. "Merry, don't ask me that, after all you've been through! _I'm_ supposed to ask _you_!"

He snorted through his delightfully upturned nose. "Never mind my turn at that inquiry — I can tell you're the same Lady who left Hobbiton with us so long ago. As for me, I'm just fine, thanks to Strider and Pip. When did you get to Minas Tirith?"

"Late last night, with Léodthain and several other men."

"And have you been in that chair since then?"

"It took a while to convince Ioreth and the others to let me in, but after that, yes," I smirked. "I came the moment I was told you were here."

I was surprised when I noticed Merry's expression unexpectedly cloud over. "King Théoden is lying in the Hall of the Tower," he said. "Have you not seen him?"

"I… I've only seen you," I said, trying not to stumble over my answer. "I haven't even been to Éowyn, yet."

At my hesitation, Merry squeezed my fingers reassuringly, but he asked, almost having to force the question between his teeth, "Did you know what was going to happen, Jo?"

I shot a look at him, forcing down the guilt that climbed through my chest to grasp at my throat. "Yes," I said simply, staring at our two intertwined hands.

I heard him release a breath, as though I had told him something he hoped was untrue, and he shifted under his coverlets. But a second later, he leaned forward and brushed his lips against my brow, and I slipped my arms around him. "I'm sorry, Merry," I whispered brokenly.

He laughed briefly and impassively. "We are both Riders of Rohan — we both lost a king. It is no fault of yours." I pressed my forehead into the shoulder of his tunic, and he went on, suddenly lighthearted as only a hobbit could be, "I'd say it's about time for dinner, wouldn't you?"

"Is it that late?" I said, pulling away.

"Yes — you slept for quite a spell, you know."

I rubbed at my sore muscles and groaned, "I should probably see Éowyn, or else she'll think I'm shirking my duties."

The Brandybuck slid out of his bed, yanking a jacket from his rucksack on the bedside table. "She has little use for you here," he said dismissively. "The Warden of the House sees to it that we have everything we need, and then some. We are heroes of the battle, in case no one has told you, and our names carry great respect in this city."

I giggled, "I had found out something about that, yes."

He opened the door of his room for me, and, coming into the sunny hallway, he cried, "Oh! We were summoned, did you know that? All the people who were in the Battle of the Morannon are up north, at a place along the Great River, and you and I are to meet them there. The Eagles have been to and fro for days with their news. Éomer has been trying to get Éowyn to come to him, and she has sent word a dozen times that she does not wish to. The Eagles come to me a couple times as well, but I had to tell them I was waiting for you."

I stopped in my tracks in the middle of the corridor, stricken dumb by such a selfless act of kindness. "Merry, you didn't have to do that — you could be up helping Éomer right now," I said uselessly.

He simpered backward at me, saying, "I know that, of course. We'll be traveling by boat north to Cair Andros in a couple of days. You don't have any trouble with boats, do you?"

"You're the one that almost drowned, Meriadoc Brandybuck," I retorted, overcome with the joy I felt merely from being with him, and the Houses of Healing rang with the sounds of our banter.

The rest of that day I spent with my hobbit, eating with him in the lush courtyard of the House and exploring the wall that ran its southern length. Léodthain came with Dréorhyse to visit with us immediately after lunch, and it was decided that I would stay another night in the House. I had no desire to leave my hobbit just yet.

"The ways of the Holbytlan are indeed strange," Léodthain told us, shaking his head, "but since they are a folk revered by many, I suppose they should not be questioned."

Once they had gone to return to the Tower, Merry and I looked down on the plains from the magnificent height of the House's wall, all of Minas Tirith glowing and bustling with life beneath us, the White City shining like pearl in the sun. I got Merry to explain the Battle of the Pelennor to me in detail, and he used a long branch to indicate spots on the real-life battlefield below. He told me about the noble ride of the Rohirrim, and how Éowyn had kept him hidden on the journey to the city, and how he had helped to defeat the dreaded Witch-king of Angmar.

Dusk fell on Gondor, but Merry and I remained perched on the wall, our bare feet dangling over the side for anyone on the level below to see. The Brandybuck smoked a pipe and waved to the people underneath us, their voices and movements echoing discordantly off the stone as they called out their greetings. We were quiet, observing the city settle in for night. A breath of air played over us, wafting the smoke from Merry's pipe right back to me, and the burning scent of the pipe-weed sent me straight back to the Shire, to evenings spent with Bilbo or Gandalf, and I nearly cried, so intense was my desire to be there again.

When the air grew chill, I dragged my legs up to my chest and tucked the hem of my skirt under my naked toes. Merry watched and puffed out a cloud, filling the space around our heads with blue-gray haze, and he said, "You look the part of a Lady of Rohan."

"Oh, well… it was Léodthain's idea," I said, flushing embarrassedly and pushing hair out of my vision, "but I'm glad he thought of it."

"I like it," Merry mumbled around his pipe.

An unanticipated shout came up to us from behind, echoing sweetly off the garden's paths and the arches lining either side of the House's halls. "And do I as well, Jorryn — though I cannot remember giving Léodthain permission to go through my old belongings."

Merry and I turned. Éowyn of Rohan was standing at the opposite side of the court, straight and proud, her hair spilling like pure gold around her lovely, white face. She was dressed in a shimmering gown and had about her shoulders a deep blue mantle set with silver stars.

"It looks better on you than it ever did when I wore it," she continued, something like mischievousness in the statement. "I was never able to keep it as clean as you evidently have."

"Lady Éowyn," I exclaimed, jumping up and hurrying down the steps of the wall and across the garden to curtsey before her. "I'm sorry I didn't come to you sooner!"

She smiled broadly, and I realized that I had not seen her do so in all the time I'd known her — I had not once witnessed mirth fill her graceful features and glimmer in her piercing eyes. I stared, thinking she was the same in appearance, but I knew that something else about her had changed; no longer did she seem cold and harsh like the steely sword she had loved, but instead she was bright and fair as an early spring morning. She seemed to glow with beauty. The lady said, "Your apology is late in coming, but I will forgive you nonetheless. Merry's company can be difficult to escape, after all."

"Thank you," I said. "How do you feel, Milady?"

She draped a willowy arm over me, and we walked together to a marble bench set under a green tree. Merry came and plopped down next to me. "I am healed in both body and spirit," Éowyn said. "I have found a comfort in this House that could not be given to me in battle."

"I'm glad to see that you're well," I said. "We received no word of you in Dunharrow."

Raising an eyebrow, she asked, "But you did hear of the King, my uncle, did you not?"

I sobered and said, "Yes, a scout came to us with the news."

"It is not strange that you failed to find out about my injuries," Éowyn said. "Éomer tells me that at the time my uncle was brought to Minas Tirith, I was thought to be lost, as well. Perhaps the scout supposed that news of both the King's and the White Lady's deaths would be too much to give at one time."

"I don't know, Milady."

She swallowed and pressed her thin lips tightly together. "He was a noble man. It is a terrible loss, for Rohan and for my people, and I will mourn long ere my heart is healed," she muttered. "I believed that I was to follow him, but I found that path closed to me. Did you not once tell me yourself, Jorryn, I would find glory on the battlefield, but not death, as I wished?"

I thought back to the day Dunharrow had been emptied, and nodded. "I did, Milady."

"Those words weighed heavily on my mind," the shieldmaiden said softly, a breeze lifting her golden locks about her like rays of sun, "especially when I did not obtain my gallant end here. After awakening, I would have ridden with the Captains of the West to the Black Gate, had I not been kept prisoner in this city."

Before I could answer, a deep, gentle voice interrupted, "Surely all would say that the White Lady of Rohan is a prisoner of no cage, real or imagined."

My head came up, and Éowyn hailed softly, "Lord Faramir."

Faramir, son of Denethor and brother of Boromir, was before us, without sword or helm, but dressed in a simple, rich gray tunic and riding pants, a thick robe of black wrapped about him. His gaze was clear and penetrating, and he folded his hands behind his back to walk toward us, his booted feet gently striking the cobblestone path. He was tall and muscular, as Boromir had been, and his hair was of the same brown tint, but not straight or fine like his brother's. I could tell by examining him for just a few seconds that he was of a gentler nature than Boromir, who had been harsh and coarse to me at first. Faramir's appearance was softer — his eyes were lighter, and his face did not seem so narrow or chiseled. He had full lips, a slightly broad nose, and a subtle scattering of stubble on his square jaw.

Faramir bowed and kissed Éowyn's hand, then straightened and bent his large body to me. "Lady Jorryn," he said courteously, and I went crimson, not expecting to be known to the Steward of Gondor.

"My lord," I said ineptly, tipping my head.

"Your captain, Léodthain, informed me of your presence in the Houses of Healing, Milady," the man explained, "and he said that you would soon be leaving for Cormallen with Master Meriadoc." He stopped to smirk at the hobbit, and he had to sweep away a large cloud of smoke that the Brandybuck sent his way. Faramir said, "I knew I could not let such honorable guests leave our city before taking the opportunity to speak with them."

At this, my cheeks continued to burn, though I was aware that the man was also probably more than willing to spend more time with Éowyn. They had been together in the House during the last days of the war, both of them wounded and alone and aching in their grief, and from the Story I knew that they would someday be wed. I thought they made a wonderful couple.

"Thank you, lord," I said, "but I deserve no honor — I'm just here to take up space."

The man laughed and said, "I was told that you were the Lady of the Shire, and I can tell it now by your speech. Your friends Peregrin and Meriadoc are the same."

"Where else would she have learned such wit?" Merry said keenly.

"I wish that I had come sooner, Milady," Faramir chuckled, "and may have spent the day in your company, but my duties as Steward have kept me in the Citadel. I have heard of your adventures from many, and all have said that your name holds great honor among Elves and Men alike. Were you not a ward of Lord Elrond of Imladris?"

"I — I was, sire, thank you," I bumbled, certain that my face could get no redder than it must have been at that instant. "I even got to meet your brother there, before he left with the Fellowship."

His stare became sharp, and he said, "I had wondered if you ever chanced to come into his company."

"Only briefly," I said, "but he was very kind. He wished me to see Minas Tirith, and to know the people here."

"Well, then, I hope that you and I will become better acquainted when you return to Minas Tirith, Milady, so that my brother's wishes may be carried out," he said. I nodded, grinning stupidly, and the man turned to Merry, saying, "The ships from Cair Andros will reach Osgiliath tomorrow evening and will depart again within the hour. You and the Lady will have to leave here with the wains taking goods to Osgiliath at midday. You'll come to Cormallen at noon of the day after."

"Very well, my lord," said Merry. "Maybe we should get some rest, if we're to be ready for traveling."

"That would be wise, Master Merry."

We said goodnight to the pair, and Merry and I left them to go back to his room. In our absence that day, a small sleeping palette had been arranged for me next to the hobbit's bed, along with a hot bath behind a large canvas screen in one corner. Grateful for both, I went quickly to the private area behind the screen, undressed, and slipped into the tub, unable to remember when I had last been able to soak in warm water.

"I know Éowyn said your dress was clean," Merry called to me around the divider, after several minutes, "but the skirts are a bit dirty from your riding. Do you want me to have Ioreth wash it for tomorrow?"

I stepped out of the bath and wrapped myself in the silky robe that was hanging nearby, peeking at the hobbit. My wet curls dripped on the floor. "That would be nice, Merry, thanks," I replied.

As Merry moved to go outside, I caught a glimpse of the gardens through the door, and I saw Faramir and Éowyn kissing in the blue evening under the trees.

* * *

We arose early the next morning, at which time I expressed to Merry my wish to visit King Théoden in the Citadel, and he agreed to take me there. The walk to the uppermost level of the city was brief, barely ten minutes from the Houses of Healing, through a tunnel burrowing under the protruding "butcher's knife" of rock, as I had named it. Emerging from the tunnel, we came up into an open courtyard of white stone, the king's hall ahead and the Tower of Ecthelion to our right, many more houses branching off of these two colossal structures. We were walking on a narrow path across a large circle of bright grass in the middle of the expansive courtyard. One other path ran perpendicular to ours, forming a point at the grass's center, where a small fountain rested noiselessly in a pool of still water. To the side, four armed Guards of the Citadel stood, their backs to a gnarled, leafless gray tree. This was the fabled White Tree of Gondor, in the Place of the Fountain.

Undaunted, Merry took me right past the White Tree and up to the steps leading into the Citadel, while I gawped at the ancient majesty of everything around us. The king's hall was constructed magnificently, like an old cathedral, every piece of stonework delicately crafted. The façade of the hall was decorated with arcades and notched pillars, and two capped spires reached up from either side of the structure. The imposing main doors were set deep under a layered archivolt at the top of a weathered stairway; they were green with age, but they still showed the precise handiwork of some ancient carver. Merry put his hands to the handles, which were shaped liked twisting configurations of vine, and pushed.

The Hall of the Tower was just as daunting as the outside. It was an enormous place of marble floors, ebony columns, and granite walls, the vaulted ceiling an impossible distance above. Statues of Gondor's previous rulers were placed in alcoves all along the chamber, but otherwise it was completely empty, and our footsteps echoed hollowly in the silence. At the hall's very end, there were two thrones — a small one for the Steward, below and to the flank of a larger white one set upon a dais for the king. Before both of these was King Théoden, lying on a bed adorned with silver and green hangings.

My step faltered. Merry stopped and let me approach him alone, and I was stricken with a sorrow that I didn't know still existed. Even after knowing what Théoden's end would be, after preparing myself for it, after mourning with all the people of Rohan, there was grief left in me.

The king was covered in a gold shroud, and I could see nothing of him but the contours of his dignified profile and the shape of his hands crossed over his chest. His sword had been positioned under his fingers, and his round shield was under his feet. Flowers were placed around his bed, fresh odors filling the space.

Tears in my eyes, I stared down at him, remembering how he had once put his wrinkled palm to my head and smoothed my hair, proclaiming me a maiden of Rohan. My heart swelled, and I was proud to say that Théoden had been my king, if only for a very short time.

"So much good has been stolen from this world," I sniffed blearily. I reached forward and flattened a wrinkle in the king's coverlet.

"He was ready, Jo," Merry said through the thickening hush. "He was a hero of his people, and he will be remembered."

"Yes, but it still isn't fair," I said, not moving from the bedside. Regret filled me, and I sagged. "These are the things I wish I could have changed, against all of Elrond's and Gandalf's warnings. These are the things that tear at my heart each day, the things that truly hurt."

I rarely brought up my knowledge of the Story unless it was questioned, and I could tell that Merry was discomfited. He rustled behind me, pondering for a moment. "Your burden was as great as anyone's, Jo," he said softly. "But it is over — you cannot be tortured by missed chances. They were not your chances to take."

We returned to the Houses of Healing at lunchtime and met Léodthain, Dréorhyse, and Éowyn in the gardens to eat together. A soldier of the Citadel came to us afterward to tell us that the wagons were preparing to go to Osgiliath, and we were to meet them soon.

The hobbit and I gathered our belongings from his room. We dressed again in the things of Rohan we'd been given, and I realized that we both were wearing garments that had once belonged to the ones we served. Merry's clothes were unmistakably one of Théoden's childhood outfits, for they were almost identical to what I'd seen the king wear — a long-sleeved shirt of green under a rich tunic of red, which displayed a large, embroidered emblem with two rearing horses' heads above a pattern of leaves. The hobbit bore his old sword, and he pulled gloves over his callused fingers. Over his wrists he fastened leather vambraces, which were decorated with the same horse pattern that shone from his chest, and he threw an olive-colored cloak on his back. I didn't recognize it, for it was not the Elvish cape I'd last seen him in. This one was trimmed with red and gold brocade and was pinned to his shoulders so that it fell attractively around him.

Especially now with our height difference, I thought myself very small and very plain next to the hobbit.

The three Rohirrim waiting to send us off in the garden acknowledged us as true servants of the Mark. Both Dréorhyse and Léodthain thanked me for my help in Dunharrow, and they kissed my hand, bowing grandly. Éowyn, however, humbly hugged me to her slender form and then examined me over from toe to tip.

"Do you have no sword?" she asked me.

"I do," I said, flustered, "but I have never used it."

"A Lady of Rohan must have her sword, whether or not she finds any purpose for it," the shieldmaiden said, smiling warmly. "It is the tradition of the Mark."

Following her request, I pulled my underused sword and its scabbard from my bag and put it awkwardly around my waist. Thankfully, I had kept it clean according to Aragorn's instructions while in Harrowdale, and its blade was not rusted or stained.

Adjusting my cloak so that it didn't hide the hilt of the weapon, Éowyn nodded approvingly and said, "We shall see you again, friends, when the King returns to the Citadel."

Merry and I were escorted through the city by two men of Gondor, riding on one borrowed horse, since I had left Bronwe in the care of the good stablemen of the Tower. The people on the streets bowed and waved as we passed, and Merry found that he enjoyed the attention very much. In the lowest courtyard of the citadel, at the city gates, we were deposited into the last cart in the procession that was taking supplies to Osgiliath. We had pillows and flasks of wine inside, so the ride across the Pelennor was more than comfortable.

Late in the afternoon, we came to the ruins of Osgiliath, and the hobbit and I did some exploring while the supplies were being loaded at the docks. We found it a crumbling old ghost of a city, filled with dust, weeds, and charred, collapsed rock. These sorts of forsaken places always made me feel lonely and lost.

"I heard Lord Elrond's sons talking with the Dúnedain about how it used to be here, once," I told Merry, climbing over a fallen pilaster. "They said it was a great city, and it still would be, if it hadn't been deserted."

"Faramir was defending it before the battle on the Fields," the hobbit added. "Though why they bothered, I have no idea. It's not much to look at, is it?"

Idly, I ran my fingertips down a section of broken stone, wondering if it had been a part of someone's house at one time. "Well," I said thoughtfully, "I suppose you'd always defend Buckland, no matter what kind of shape it was in."

"Yes, you're right," the hobbit declared. "You have a strange, Elvish wisdom about you, Jo."

We were called to board the first of the ships a few minutes later. The boats were relatively small and lean, white-sailed and resting low in the cheerful waters of Anduin. The strong men commanding the ships helped Merry and me aboard, and we were taken to a cramped little cabin within the boat. It was lit with lanterns, having no portal to look out from, but there was a table, some low chairs, and a bunk bed built into the far edge of the tiny space. Our dinner was on the table.

I walked unsteadily across the rocking floor, everything creaking and moaning around me, the sailors' feet clunking noisily on the wooden decks overhead. Sitting down opposite Merry, I began to eat, and we looked around and at each other, neither of us speaking.

After he had finished, Merry left me at the table and began taking off his many outer layers of clothing, slipping out of his shoulder harness and positioning the sword attached to it carefully against the wall.

I couldn't tell if I was nervous, or just queasy from the boat's pitching, but I felt odd. At length, I asked Merry, "How long has it been since you saw everyone?"

He folded his cloak and said, "Well, about the same as you, when it comes to Strider, Legolas, and Gimli. Pippin and Gandalf were in Minas Tirith for a day or so after the Battle of Pelennor Fields. And… I imagine it was about the end of February when we were separated from Frodo and Sam."

I thought back to the night the Fellowship had left Rivendell, at the end of last year. "What day is it, today?"

"By now, it should be April."

Had it only been four months since I had last seen Gandalf and Frodo and Sam? It seemed like it had been much longer, and I was sure I had spent many more excruciating days separated from them. I propped my elbow up on the table and cupped my chin, frowning at my empty plate. A second later, I sensed Merry's body next to me.

"What are you so worried about, Jo?"

I closed my eyes, picturing him for a moment as the Brandybuck who had pledged his service to me on that evening I had spent with him and the other hobbits, after I had rescued him from the lake in Hobbiton. I remembered all of us, sitting in Bag End's parlor, warm, happy, and innocent. Before the Ring had taken us all away.

And I turned around to discover that same Brandybuck, taller, in the colors of a country that was not his own, shadows deep across his lovable features. I leaned my head against him and sighed. "Nothing, Merry." 


	39. Cormallen

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own any of Tolkien's characters or the world he created. The only character of mine (Jorryn) has decided to take a holiday in Tolkien's Middle-earth. No copyright infringement on any of J. R. R. Tolkien's works is intended.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** All right, yeah, I know I promised this to you all a lot sooner than this, and for that I apologize. I am truly sorry this took so long. :) I had to let this chapter sit for a while on my computer, because I wasn't quite sure whether I was happy with it or not. I was a challenge to write, and it went through _many _revisions. For these reasons, I would especially appreciate feedback on this one. Jorryn and Merry come to Cormallen, and they meet a few familiar characters. _Please_ let me know what you think of this. Thanks for reading, as always!

**EDIT: **Aw, crud. I just realized that I forgot to mention that the poem in this chapter is "Aubade" by William Davenant. It doesn't belong to me, and I'm sorry I forgot to say that the first time.

Also, _this is not the last chapter_. :)

**

38

**

In the night, we passed into Ithilien, and Merry and I awoke in a land much different from the one we'd left. There were green trees everywhere, and to our right, on the east, the craggy mountains of Mordor marched, closer than ever, black and dead. Around us, the air was fragrant and filled with the sounds of whispering trees and rushing streams. I was surprised to come up from our cabin into a world so beautiful; Minas Tirith almost grayed in comparison.

"So this is Ithilien," Merry remarked, coming onto the deck after me. Squinting all around us, he nodded approvingly, his curls swept back by a breeze. "I'm glad they brought Frodo and Sam here — it will be good for them to wake up under a tree or beside a river. I'm sure they saw naught of either in Mordor."

We supped on the deck of the ship in the sunlight under a blue sky, though I ate scarcely half of what I was given, too excited to sit still. I had forgotten the solemnity of the days before and was filled with anticipation. Today was the day — in a very short time, I would see Frodo, and Sam, and Pippin, and Gandalf, and all the others — today was the day.

After eating, Merry and I waited on the starboard side of the small ship, watching the greenery slide by, and I tapped impatiently on the railing running the length of the deck. I had to shove my hair out of my eyes repeatedly as the misty air played with it, and I kept glancing back over my shoulder at the men clunking back and forth behind us. I was on the verge of asking how much longer it would take to get to Cormallen.

"My dear Lady, you look as though you're about to jump out of your skin," Merry noted faintly beside me. "Do I catch a hint of Pippin's character in yours?"

"I would be more than happy to share any characteristic of the Tooks," I told the hobbit, bouncing on the tips of my toes. "Though I'm not usually this nervous."

"They're just as excited to see you, Jo, don't worry," he said, crossing his arms over the wooden railing.

Biting my lip and raising a hand to block out the glaring sun, I asked, "Do you — do you think Frodo and Sam are already awake, Merry?"

He shrugged. His adorable, pug-nosed profile was outlined sharply against the clear water. "I couldn't tell you that… the Eagles brought no word of them. Do you want them to be awake?"

"I don't know," I said. "If they're all together, with Gandalf, Legolas, and Gimli, and if we see them all at once — I may faint."

The hobbit laughed, and all at once, shouts echoed down from the masts. The boats began to veer to the right. The dense trees before us thinned and gave way, and the steep riverbank fell into a gentle, gravelly slope. I saw a fair glen stretching up from the shore, and the men ready to receive the boats waved to us. They were clearly soldiers of Gondor, dressed in glinting silver mail and black tunics decorated with the White Tree.

"Cair Andros!" someone announced at our rear.

"We're here," Meriadoc said.

Merry and I were carried to dry ground in little dinghies and deposited on the rocky shore. I was disappointed to see that not one of our old companions had come to meet us — the only things waiting on the riverbank, other than the men unloading the ships, were two horses and a lone rider. Merry and I tarried on the bank, uncertain, until the rider beckoned to us. Coming nearer, I realized that the man was a Ranger of the North, one that I had ridden with from Imladris. His deep brown cloak was pulled close about him.

"Mistadiel," he said promptly, as soon as I had recognized him, and the underused name filled me with memories of Rivendell. The man continued, nodding to Merry, "Master Hobbit. Welcome to Cormallen."

"Sire," I hailed happily, dipping into a hasty curtsey, "I didn't expect to meet you here! Where is Aragorn, or Lord Halbarad?"

To my surprise, the Ranger's already dark features dimmed further, and he said, "Lord Aragorn has remained thither, in Cormallen, for many days… but Lord Halbarad fell in the Battle of the Pelennor before the White City."

My mouth opened, but I managed a mere, dumbfounded, "Oh, I — I didn't know, sire."

Halbarad was dead? The lord had been kind to me on the journey to Rohan, putting up with my obnoxious presence graciously, and I'd thought him a chivalrous man. I could not recall reading about his death in the books — how many more of those noble Rangers fallen in the war?

"He would not want you to grieve, Mistadiel," the man said helpfully, twisting his reins between strong fingers. "He fell in battle alongside his lord; it was as he wished."

"I suppose so, sire," I agreed sadly.

"Come — if you are ready, let us go."

The man gestured to the second horse, and Merry hoisted me obligingly into the saddle, mounting up behind me. We followed the Ranger up the sloping banks of Anduin, and the crunching rocks under the horses' hooves yielded to the soft green turf of a sweeping lawn. The grassy area was encircled with giant beeches and pines, and rich banners of Gondor and Rohan flew proudly in its four corners. At its far end was a raised knoll upon which a high chair had been placed, but no one was there, and the man leading Merry and I did not stop. Keeping his horse at a trot, the Ranger took us across the lawn and into the cool shadows under the trees, following a hidden path through them.

A minute later, the three of us came out onto another wide space, looking upon a sea of tents and fluttering flags. This was the camp at Cormallen, where all that remained of the gallant forces that had fought at the Battle of the Morannon had stayed since the day of the Ring's destruction. The entire camp was bright with sunshine, and tents of varying size and type lined every available spot of the large field. I was not reminded of Harrowdale. This camp was all over the place and lively, and the atmosphere was much too cheery to be compared with the dismal, foreboding air of the refuge where I had stayed.

I was taking all of it in, when the Ranger beside us said brusquely, "Your friends are waiting for you."

Catching my breath, I leaned forward and eagerly scanned between the tent rows, Meriadoc craning to see around me. The hobbit said, "My lord, I can't see them. Can you tell us — "

Merry's arms were around my waist, and before he'd had a chance to finish his request, I clamped my fingers down hard on them. "Merry," I muttered, halting him in mid-sentence.

My eyes had stopped on a group of four assembled underneath the shadows of a tree a short distance from us. There, I saw a boy-sized figure settled on the ground with his elbows propped comfortably on his knees, his back to the tree trunk. He was at the feet of an attractive, willowy Elf sitting on a large rock among the roots. Beside them both stood a surly-looking Dwarf. The Dwarf was attempting to blow smoke-rings from a long, wooden pipe, apparently getting his instruction from the fourth person, who was tall, clad in white, and was waving his weathered hands animatedly as he leaned upon a slender walking staff.

I could not move, and a numb, needlelike feeling crept across my skin. Seeing these four, those that I had loved and missed for so long, gathered under the shade of beech boughs with snatches of sunlight on their happy faces, was like a picture, perfect and golden. My heart was squeezing painfully in my chest. I could not disturb them. That would break the spell.

But then the smallest of the group looked up from his spot in the grass, spotted Merry and me, and jumped to his feet. Vaguely, he pointed to us down the path, getting his three companions' attention, perhaps making sure that we were not an illusion. The tall Elf saw us as well and nodded, and the little figure broke away from the four at a run. A second later, the sweetest, most lilting and most singsong of all voices in Middle-earth called to us.

"Jo — Merry — over here!"

Sandy-haired, green-eyed Peregrin Took came dashing toward us, his long arms waving frantically, his hairy hobbit feet throwing up clouds of dust on the road. Instinctively, Merry whipped the horse around, saying calmly into my ear as I struggled to swing myself to the ground, "Jo, please don't fall off and break your neck…"

I hardly heard him. Pippin loped up beside us — I caught the customary black and silver of the Citadel guard, and the White Tree emblazoned on the Took's chest, before I dropped clumsily from the saddle and stumbled to meet him — in the blink of an eye, I was in the hobbit's arms, and he was swinging me around, and he was so _tall _—

"Pippin," I said, but I couldn't see him through my tears, I could just feel his lips against my temple and hear him muttering my name incoherently. I clung to him and wept into the velvet of his tunic. "Pippin, I've missed you so much!"

I didn't know what to think of first. All sensation left me, and the only emotion I could truly grasp was an immeasurable joy, pulsing through me. It brought me back to life, and it charged my soul with energy. Traces of long-forgotten memories flooded over me, brought back just by being in the Took's arms — Bilbo's laugh, the flash of a hobbitish smile over a mug of ale, songs in Bag End, a smudge of dirt on Sam's nose —

_I have been empty and dead since the Fellowship's departure_, I thought. _But no more — we're together again at last. _

Laughing merrily, Pippin put me back down on the dirt path and turned his head into mine, pressing his forehead to my bangs and meeting my tearful gaze just a few centimeters away from me. He showed me his old, lovable smile. "Do you know how jealous I was of Merry when he told me he'd seen you in Rohan?" he demanded without delay.

"I know, Pip," I said, and I was stunned by the steadiness of my voice. "We just missed you after passing Isengard. I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too — but Gandalf and I _did_ leave in somewhat of a rush, so I can't truly blame you," Pippin said, pulling back and giving a faint shake of his curls to clear them from his vision. He patted down my braids gently. "I'm glad to have you here, now, at any rate. What did you and Merry do down in Rohan? I'll have to keep you to myself for a few days, so that he and I are equal with each other."

"That's hardly fair," said Meriadoc defensively, slipping down from his horse and walking up to join us. He crossed his arms over the embroidered horses' heads on his tunic. "Almost all the time I've been with her has been spent traveling. We've not had a moment's peace."

"You know I don't believe that, my dear Meriadoc," snorted Pippin. "Surely there was some time for eating and drinking. What if she took her meals privately with me, would you call that fair?"

Merry frowned thoughtfully. "I may consider that."

I giggled feebly and said, "You two are insane. I will want to be with both of you at the same time, of course."

Indignant, Pippin opened his mouth to protest, but another voice interrupted from behind, deep and coarse.

"Now, wait a moment. Surely these Halflings are not the only two who wish to spend time with the Lady Jorryn."

Remembering the three other figures that I'd observed before, I turned, blinking hard to clear the mist that still blurred my eyes. Over Pippin's shoulder, I made out the familiar features of Legolas, Gimli — and Gandalf.

"Gandalf," I gasped, clapping a hand over my lips to hide their sudden shaking, stifling a baffled sob. There was no way I could have prepared myself for the utter beauty of the wizard.

He was clothed in pure white, and his hair and beard were like blinding snow. No longer was he the hoary, curly-headed, unkempt Gandalf that had befriended me in the Shire. His beard was trim and soft, and his long hair was neatly brushed, with much of the top half pulled back sleekly in a tail. His clothing was rich and clean, and a large silver brooch secured his splendid white robe. I could see almost no hint of the old Gandalf I had known, save for his kind face and piercing eyes — yes, his eyes were the same, sparkling blue and sharp as knives.

Under my long scrutiny, Gandalf at last cocked his head and narrowed his gaze. "Well," he said seriously, "do I meet with your approval, Lady Jorryn?"

Sniveling through a laugh, I stepped over to him, at a loss. The wizard went to one knee for me, the lines of his elderly features deepening as he smiled. Shaking my head, I gawked at him, unable to believe what I was seeing. This was Gandalf the White, the famed wizard who had faced many foes and was now revered by all the peoples of Middle-earth, and the thought came into my mind that he should not be kneeling to a plain girl of the Shire, regardless of how much she loved him. Nevertheless, I fell into his embrace trembling, and Gandalf's arms came snugly around me, the fingers of one hand smoothing my hair.

"My dear Lady," the wizard rumbled.

"Gandalf — it's been too — too long," I said, quavering. I felt the tickle of his beard against my neck.

The wizard hugged me to him, saying, "And you have been missed, Jorryn."

I drew away and grinned tearfully at him. I said nothing, still mystified by his new appearance.

He turned his head to look at me sideways, his stare shrewd and gleaming. "You told me that we would someday meet again, Jorryn," he pointed out, not waiting for me to speak. "I am very glad to find that you were correct."

Finding my voice, I recalled the day we had been parted in Rivendell and added hurriedly, "And I told you I was going to thank you again for everything you've done for me, didn't I?"

In response, he winked and reached to cradle my cheek in a wrinkled palm, using his thumb to sweep away a tear. "You know it is not needed. You have been as brave as any in all the time I've known you, and that is not my doing."

Sniffing, I smiled thankfully. "It's so good to be with you again, Gandalf."

The wizard chuckled and made to get up, and I stepped back so that he could push himself to his feet again. A second later, there came a soft brushing of long blonde hair against my ear, and I heard, "It is good to see you again, Mistadiel."

Sure enough, it was Legolas, who stood tall and gently erect, his hands folded at his waist, his soft locks falling attractively about his ageless, smiling face. In his quiet manner, he had bent to me, and as I faced him, he bowed, now looking at me with dazzling eyes.

"Legolas!" I cried. I twitched involuntarily toward him; I wanted to throw my arms around his lean waist and envelop him in a hug, but I didn't know if he was one to permit such things. I stopped myself just in time and went on stupidly to him, "You're looking very well."

His small, knowing smile widened slightly. "Thank you, Mistadiel. I must say the same for you."

I flushed and wiped ferociously at the tears that were still leaking over my cheeks, feeling suddenly and incredibly mussed in the company of my elegant friends. I was sure I looked terrible. "Thank you," I forced.

Gimli had been waiting at his friend's elbow, his arms crossed as he watched me, but at our exchange, he laughed gratingly. The Dwarf came assertively to my side and put his gloved hand heavily to my shoulder. "You should not compliment him, Milady," he said. "It will go straight to his empty Elvish head."

Legolas smirked but made no complaint. I covered Gimli's fingers with my own, squeezing gently. "Hello, Gimli," I said.

He was still the rough Dwarf I had known in Rivendell, with his reddish-brown hair and small, black eyes. Grinning under his bushy beard, he said in an abrasive, earthy tone, "Well, did we not say that our paths would cross again in the East, Jorryn? We have all come a long way from our last meeting."

"Yes," I said, "and it's so good to see you all again. Rohan was not the same without you."

"You were sorely missed by all," said Gimli. "You are one of the few who can keep our four Halflings in order. I will say that you have the look and disposition of the Shire-folk yourself, but you are less trouble than any of them. I'm certain you will hear many stories about how much disruption your friends caused on our journeys."

"I beg your pardon," Merry said nonchalantly. "I'm sure we don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes," said Pippin. "Jo would testify to our innocence, of course."

Gimli grunted doubtfully, and Legolas asked me, "How did you come to be in Cormallen, Mistadiel?"

"With a captain of the Mark to Minas Tirith, and then here by ship with Merry," I said.

The ends of his graceful mouth curled. "It is a long journey to make from Harrowdale," the Elf said.

"Yes, but I enjoyed it. I finally got to see some more of the mountains, and the plains."

"Gandalf and I went from Isengard to Minas Tirith three days," Pippin put in. "I'm afraid we didn't get to see much of anything on our journey."

Gimli gave a gruff chuckle and said, "You saw more than our company, young hobbit, I assure you. Aragorn's path took us under the mountains and through endless dark. I look forward to the journey back west, if only to see the lands we missed."

Pippin took my arm and stuck it inside the crook of his, and the hilt of his sword dug into my hip when he pulled me close, although I hardly noticed. "Well, however you got here, we're all glad to have you two here with us at last," he said. Glancing sidelong, he remarked quietly and teasingly, "You're certainly a sight, Jo. That's not an Elvish dress, by the looks of it."

"Of course not," Merry said, answering for me. "We are both in the service of the Mark, Pip — she is a Lady of Rohan, just as I am a knight."

"Well, I do beg your pardon, Miss Jo," Pippin said impishly, and his green irises glinted mischievously. He pointed deliberately to the White Tree on his uniform and said, "I've gotten myself into plenty of trouble, too, if you'll be so kind to observe. I suppose it's not difficult to assume I am I guard of the City."

"No," I said, touching the dark, quilted fabric of his sleeve, staring up at him. Like Merry, he had grown taller than any hobbit should have naturally been, thanks to the ent-draughts of Treebeard. "You look magnificent, Pippin."

"Yes, you say that now, but I'm not sure what duties remain to this guard of the Citadel," the Took went on wistfully. "Aragorn will soon be the King of Gondor, and I'm sure he has little use for me."

"I hope he charges you three with the task of looking out for each other," Gandalf said, pointing to Merry, Pippin, and me, "so that I may be relieved of that responsibility."

Pippin simpered and explained, "Old Gandalf has been looking after me since we came to Gondor. I wasn't really that much trouble, though, was I?"

"Not at all, Peregrin," Gandalf chuckled. The wizard tucked his thumbs into his belt — I identified the old habit instantly and had to bite my tongue to stop from calling everyone's attention to it.

I soon got control over my harried emotions and could at least listen to my companions without bursting into hysterical tears, but this was all I could do for several minutes. Beside me, Gimli started up an argument with Pippin and Merry about the superior aspects of both Rohan and Gondor, drawing laughter from everyone, and I moved back to stand between Gandalf and Legolas. The Elf allowed his fingertips to graze my shoulder as he let his arms fall to his sides, making room for me beside him.

In a particularly heated instant of the banter between the dwarf and two hobbits, I scooted toward the wizard. "Gandalf," I muttered to him, "where's Aragorn?"

He bent his concentration on me, and he pursed his lips pensively. "He is with Frodo, and Sam," he murmured thickly. He perceived my subsequent question in the hopeful lift of my eyebrows and my quick intake of breath, before I even thought to ask it. The wizard shook his head, letting his arm come across my back, squeezing gently. "You will not see them yet, Jo. Frodo and Sam have been wandering in darkness, and Aragorn has labored long to bring them back. All three need rest."

"Please, Gandalf," I said anxiously. "When can I go to Frodo?"

"You will be with him soon, dearest Lady," he whispered, averting his stare and nodding vaguely. "Very soon."

After a while, Peregrin whisked Merry and me away to his spacious, domed tent, where we would be staying with him. He helped me to lay out my crinkled dresses, giving me his opinion on each, and then compared armor and swords with Merry afterward. They fought about which pieces were better, and I laughed to see them acting like the children they still were. I think it was finally decided that Merry's round, embellished shield was best out of their armory, but Pippin's shirt of mail was finer and cleaner than Merry's.

"I sometimes wish it was as easy for us to get new clothes as it is for Jo," Pippin quipped when we were finished. "I only got one other outfit in all our time away from Rivendell."

"Oh, stop making fun of me," I retorted.

"I am even with you in one characteristic, however," he said, triumphant. "I was given the name _Ernil i Pheriannath_ while I was in Minas Tirith."

"What is that supposed to mean?" asked Merry skeptically.

"'Prince of the Halflings,' I think," Pippin answered, shrugging. "Anyhow, I don't know where the people came up with it, but the title stuck, and I rather like it. I just might keep it for whenever I become Thain of the Shire."

In the gloom of the evening, Merry and I had to report to Éomer at the other side of the camp, for he was now the king of Rohan. Entering his tent, I saw that it was outfitted just as Théoden's had been, hung with many Rohirric banners, the floor strewn with animal skins. It was painful to be in a place that brought my thoughts so severely back to the fallen king.

I ducked under a silken hanging and spotted Éomer. He was sitting on a short bench before a table when we came in, and he rose to meet us.

Merry and I knelt immediately and hailed him deferentially, "Lord Éomer."

"Please, friends, rise," he said quickly, coming and pulling us up.

His hand on my forearm, I looked into his memorable countenance, seeing the stern line of his jaw, his firm lips, and the glint of his deep eyes under his grim eyebrows. He was dressed in a rough gray tunic and riding pants.

"Friends, there is no need for such practice between us," he continued kindly. "The help you have given to Rohan is great, and you both deserve the respect of our highest lords and ladies."

"Thank you, lord," we accepted readily.

He seated us in two chairs opposite him and began asking about all he had missed in our time apart. His first question was, naturally, about Éowyn. "How does my sister fare?" the man wondered, tilting forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

"She is very well, Lord Éomer," Merry said. "She's recovered fully from her injuries. She walks around the gardens during the day, and watches over the City from the walls."

Éomer glowered pensively and turned to me. "Did you not see her as well, Lady Jorryn? How did she appear, to you?"

"Beautiful," I said honestly. "The Black Breath has left her unscarred."

"Outwardly, perhaps — but is her spirit broken? Why does she refuse to come to Cair Andros?"

"Oh," I said quickly, waving my hands, "by no means. She is happy in the Houses of Healing, and just doesn't feel yet ready to leave them."

He pressed us about her condition for several more minutes, but I didn't disclose anything about what was developing between Faramir and her. I didn't think she would like me to be shouting that all over the camp, though she had never given me explicit orders about it. When Éomer was certain that all was acceptable in that area, he asked for news about Léodthain and the emptying of Dunharrow.

"How many were there to return to Edoras?" he inquired of me.

"I don't know, lord — half of all that were originally in Dunharrow? I couldn't tell you for sure."

"How did you find the city, and the Golden Hall?"

I was happy to respond, "All was in perfect order, as far as I could tell. Meduseld has been kept magnificently in your absence, and I'm sure you'll be pleased when you see it."

"That is well," Éomer pronounced. "Théoden would not have had his Hall fall into disrepair." Then, peering at us, he said, "You have both served the Riddermark faithfully, my friends, and I know that my uncle wished to sit with you in Meduseld one day, after all was ended. When we return to Edoras, may I do so, on his behalf?"

Merry ducked his head and said, "We would be most honored, King Éomer."

The next day, Gandalf repeated that I could not see Frodo or Sam, and that Aragorn was still taking time to recover after all that had happened. The Ranger had suffered wounds as well, Gandalf said, and he was overcome with exhaustion.

So I spent all of the daytime hours running around with Pippin and Merry, and we found ourselves getting into mischief, just like in the old days. Abandoning our ceremonial attire for more comfortable Hobbitish clothing, we were clearly recognizable among the men of Gondor and Rohan. We romped about the camp, meeting the many soldiers that had been at the Battle of the Morannon, finding that a good deal of them were still recovering from hurts, but also that all of them were content and in good spirits.

Pippin first took us on a tour of the Field and its surrounding lands. Ithilien was an extraordinary, green place, always cool and bathed with abundant sunlight. In the east, the mountains of Mordor were softened behind a curtain of haze, reduced to gray, craggy shapes that stood faint on the horizon. Gold-rimmed clouds floated behind them. I wondered how long it had been since the wastelands on their other side had seen the sun.

Next, though Merry had narrated their adventures to me once before, Pippin sat us down in the glen to go through their entire story again, and I had to admit that they were much better to hear from both at the same time. They acted out the especially exciting parts, and their shouts rang so loudly through the wood that Legolas and Gimli came to investigate the noise. Eventually, the hobbits managed to get the pair involved in the battle scenes, making them out to be the many Orcs that they had killed, and I was dissolved into painful fits of laughter by the time they were through. It was hilarious to watch Merry and Pippin thrust their imaginary swords at Gimli and Legolas, and then witness the hobbits' ensuing frustration when Legolas danced deftly around the unseen blade. More than ever, I was relieved that the vivacity of my friends had not been stolen from them.

That night, I spent a long time turned over in my bed to watch Pippin and Merry sleep. This was how I remembered them best, and I was reminded sharply of our home in the Shire. I thought of the times I had reclined in the grass with my hobbits on the Hill, and of the fresh, golden morning that we had shared after spending the night in Tuckborough so long ago. I was touched with nostalgia, but it was no longer a melancholy feeling; yes, things had changed, but not for the worst.

I gripped my blanket in my fists. _But that will all be shattered if I find Frodo no longer wants me_, I thought. _Please let him still want me_.

Pippin stirred, his thin, curling lips opening and closing slowly, and he rolled away from me in his adjacent cot. Staring at the back of his head, I couldn't stop my mind from creeping backward to my earliest days in Middle-earth. Before we had fled Hobbiton for Crickhollow, my hobbits and I had stolen vegetables, looked at the stars, climbed trees, and played hide-and-go-seek.

And when everything was over and we were back in Hobbiton again, restoring these old habits would be my first wish.

On my third day in Cormallen, Gandalf came to eat lunch with us in Pippin's tent. We rested together in the late morning, sunbeams dancing on the grass outside as they came down through the waving branches overhead. A Gondorian servant brought us a table by Pippin's request, and another placed a tray of vegetables, chicken, and bread upon its center. They gave us tall, pewter goblets filled with a pungent red wine, and I didn't complain about my absent mug of milk. I was hungry, and I couldn't remember the last time I'd eaten such ripe tomatoes and such warm, soft bread.

Pippin noticed how eagerly I finished my first serving. "Did they not feed you well enough in Rohan, Jo?"

Swallowing, I reached for a piece of chicken. "Our supplies were going bad in Dunharrow," I said frankly. "I ate whatever the refugees had, which wasn't much."

"Ah, I see," the hobbit said meditatively. "You should have come to Minas Tirith, then. Even with the siege, Denethor always had plenty of fresh food."

I remembered the personality of Boromir's father, and I snorted, not surprised. However, I said merely, "How on earth would I have managed to make it to Gondor while the war was still going on, Pip?"

"I'm sure you could have found some way, if you'd tried."

Gandalf, sitting across from Pippin, _harrumphed _low in his throat, pulling his pipe from the depths of his cloak. "Well said, Peregrin. Had I been asked, in Imladris," he mused, "where Jorryn would be at the beginning of the coming year, I would not have guessed Harrowdale."

"I wouldn't have, either," I agreed, smiling. "I never thought I'd get this far away from Rivendell."

"Come to think of it," Merry added, "in the beginning, I would not have put any of us where we are now. Not past the Misty Mountains, at least."

Pippin sighed. "After seeing so much, it will be odd to go back to the Shire."

A deep voice called to us from behind, breaking into our reflective conversation, "But that time — if _I_ have any say — will not come for quite a while."

I shifted around in my chair to see that Aragorn Elessar was peeking in at us through the open entry to the tent. The familiar Ranger was the same striking, muscular man that we had known in Bree, except for the fact that he was no longer wearing his old leather jerkin or shabby tunic, but a velvet robe of burgundy, and he was without his sword. His tousled, shoulder-length hair was clean, and two small sections at either temple had been brushed back and secured in a band, the rest falling loose around his unshaven jaw.

"Hullo, Strider," said Pippin briskly.

Neither of the hobbits stood to bow, but I was contemplating it when Aragorn strode up to our table and crouched beside us. "I'm glad to have you in Cormallen, my friends," he said warmly, embracing first Merry, and me afterward. "You are looking well, Meriadoc."

"Good as new, thanks to you, Strider," Merry nodded.

"And you, Jorryn," the man said, giving me a rare smile. His voice was quiet, but his eyes flashed under the shade of his brow. "A Lady of the Mark, as the Lord Éomer has told me."

I looked at him with delight blossoming within me, and I dipped my head in a quick gesture of respect. "That's nothing compared to you — the King of Gondor! Shall we start calling you 'your majesty' anytime soon?"

He laughed, "No, Mistadiel… to you I will forever remain 'Strider,' the Ranger of the North who happened upon you and a few lost hobbits in the Prancing Pony."

"You've made quite a group out of those _lost hobbits_," said Pippin primly, reaching for his goblet. "What would old Butterbur say if he saw us now? We were just a bunch of wandering Halflings to him, and you were merely a shady drifter."

"I fear that Barliman Butterbur will not know much of what happened beyond his own doorstep," Aragorn said, shaking his head.

There was no point in asking Aragorn how he felt, for he seemed stronger and fiercer than he'd been in the past. As I gulped down the rest of my meal, I watched him, thinking that he was beautiful and the perfect vision of a king. I almost wished that I lived in Gondor, if only to experience life under the rule of Aragorn Elessar.

After we finished eating, I slipped out of the tent to take a breath of air, feeling full and snug and happy. The sunlight was lovely and the air was cool, and I let my bare toes curl around the warm blades of grass under my feet. I was standing with my arms crossed contentedly at my waist when Aragorn came to join me.

He had been smoking, and the tangy odor of the pipe-weed clung to his long robes. I beamed at the man, pleased that he was with me, and he moved to my shoulder so that we could stare out over the field. Pippin's tent was near the edge of the encampment on a small, verdant knoll, and from its height we could see the whole of the grounds stretching out before us.

"Are you well, Jorryn?" Aragorn asked me, breaking the silence after a while.

I glimpsed him from the corner of my eye, but he was not looking at me. His hands were folded, and he was gazing over the camp with mild interest. Appreciative of his concern, I nodded and said, "Yes, I think so. It's just strange, that's all."

Out of my vision, he murmured gently, "What is strange?"

"Everything," I shrugged, bemused. I bent my concentration downward, my toes ripping at the grass. I tore up several blades before going on, "I have thought so long about finally being back with all of you, and now that I am, I almost can't believe it. Since Merry left me in Dunharrow, I've been going through each day waiting for the one that would bring me to the hobbits, and to you. It's all sort of a dream."

The Ranger chuckled. "Once Frodo awakes, Milady, you will, too. But you are not the only one — all of Middle-earth has been in a daze since Mordor's destruction. It is hard for the people to be freed from an evil that has tortured them for so long."

I remembered the heaviness that had left me that day in Rohan, the morning that the Ring had been destroyed. "I guess," I said slowly, "that it was good I was thinking of my friends all that time, instead of the Enemy. In any other case, I would have driven myself mad with worry and dread. Being closer to Frodo and the others was enough to get me through the most terrible days."

It took many seconds for Aragorn to answer, and when he did, his voice was low and thoughtful. "You know," he said, "Frodo loves you very much, Jorryn."

The unexpected softness of his statement made me turn and stare up at him, until I could no longer bear it, and I had to divert my focus to the middle of the man's broad chest. "Yes, Strider… I know," I mumbled.

A short while later, the rest of my friends came outside, and Aragorn invited us to walk with him in the camp. Presently, we found ourselves trailing him through the trees and down a trail I'd never taken, Gandalf a step behind us. We spoke amiably about spontaneous topics, and Strider inquired after Faramir and Éowyn. Listening to our blather, Gandalf leaned on his staff and smoked his pipe, prodding the hobbits whenever they meandered too slowly in front of him. The path eventually came down into a circle of isolated tents. A stream flowed through this little grove, curving and bubbling around its perimeter.

"Are they awake, Gandalf?" Pippin blurted suddenly, whirling to face the wizard.

"No, Peregrin," Gandalf said evenly, "but you may still see them."

Aragorn led us to one large pavilion, pulled back the silken hangings, and waited for us to enter. My heart tightened in my chest, and I seized Pippin's arm impulsively, stricken swiftly with apprehension.

"Oh, Pip, I don't know if I can," I hissed.

"It's all right," he replied, comforting.

We passed under Aragorn — and I saw them.

Inside the tent, Samwise Gamgee and Frodo Baggins were resting on low beds, radiance shimmering around them like unearthly halos. They were clothed in clean white linens, plush coverlets pulled up to their chests, their skin dappled with the shadows of the leafy branches coming through the canvas of their shelter. The clothes from their journey through Mordor, soiled and tattered beyond recognition, were folded neatly and arranged on the ground, their swords positioned across the tidy piles.

I heard Aragorn saying something about their current health to Gandalf, but my attention was elsewhere, and I was unable to stop my gaze from going back and forth between Sam and Frodo.

The Gamgee was not much changed — he was a little thinner, perhaps, but that could be fixed with no trouble, assuredly. Even as he slept, his innocent features were teased with a frown, and his thin mouth was puckered, but I still perceived the sweet, loyal little hobbit that I had first met in Bag End's gardens — the one that had easily taken my hand, along with a good deal of my love.

"Gandalf," Merry said mutedly, "what happened to Frodo's finger?"

I turned, and my insides tore in two at the sight of Frodo's right hand, which was resting on his stomach; it had been bandaged, but under the cloth the first finger was plainly shorter than all the others. The wizard did not answer Merry, but I was already aware that Gollum had bitten the finger off in a last, desperate attempt to take the Ring from Frodo on Mount Doom.

Frodo slept soundly, expressionless, his face resting into the coolness of his pillow, dark hair matted over his pointed ears. A few small scratches marred his smooth cheeks, and there were circles under his eyes. He was battered and bruised, pallid as the white linens he wore. This was not the Baggins that had left me in Rivendell.

A lump lodged in my throat. I felt sick, because my hobbits had suffered.

None of us spoke. Finally, after several moments of staring at Frodo's mangled extremity, I stooped and kissed the hobbit's white knuckle, a lone tear falling onto the bandages on his wrist.

Across from me, at the other side of Frodo's bed, Aragorn said, "You need not worry, friends. They have endured much, but they will recover."

Pippin leaned over Sam. "How did you get them here, Gandalf?"

"The Eagles carried them from the side of Mount Doom, just before the whole of the mountain was consumed by fire."

Unable to hide my fears, I asked, "Are they much changed, Aragorn?"

The man shifted, nodding to Frodo's injured hand, and he said, "They carry many scars — this not the least of them — but you know of the resiliency of hobbits, Jorryn. They have been brought back from darkness, but I'd wager that one of their first requests will be for a good meal."

"When do you think they'll wake?" Merry wondered.

Gandalf scowled at our persistent inquiries, but there was jest in his gravelly reply to the hobbit. "Immediately, Meriadoc Brandybuck, if you three do not stop speaking so loudly and asking so many questions," he said. "They will wake when they have gotten sufficient rest. That time has not yet come, as you can see."

The wizard motioned for us to leave the tent, but I lingered. Distantly aware that Aragorn and Gandalf were watching me, I hovered above Frodo. After so long apart, how could I be expected to leave them?

"They will not be alone, Jorryn," Gandalf said thickly, glaring intensely at me. "They are heroes of Middle-earth, and they will be attended well."

I lifted my head, taking in an unsteady lungful of air. "I know they will," I relented at last. "May I come back tomorrow?"

"Yes, my dear Lady, you may," Gandalf said.

I stole one last look at the two hobbits, and I followed Merry and Pippin outside.

* * *

_The lark now leaves his wat'ry nest, _

_And climbing shakes his dewy wings. _

_He takes this window for the East, _

_And to implore your light he sings — _

_Awake, awake! the morn will never rise _

_Till she can dress her beauty at your eyes…_

I roused myself with a jolt the next morning, thinking instantly of Frodo and Sam, the words of some obsolete song echoing in my head — but by the time I had fought off the lingering fog of my fatigue, I remembered that I was in Pippin's pavilion, and he and Merry were snoring loudly in their nearby cots. From the shining light coming through the sighing beech boughs above the canvas ceiling, I presumed it to be quite early yet, and I regretted opening my eyes. I fell back into my pillow and threw an arm over my face, growling at my nerves.

"Stop worrying and go back to sleep," I told myself. "_Go back to sleep_."

But it was to no avail. Knowing that I would take no more rest that day, I got up and dressed silently in one of my Hobbitish gowns. After that, I tried to figure out what I could do in the hours that remained before breakfast, and I ambled around our beds, shaking the cold out of my feet.

No direct ideas came to me, so I left our tent and dawdled outside, not wanting to rouse my friends. The cold morning was filled with the smell of green grass and the tinkling of the neighboring streams. I breathed deeply and rubbed at a pain in the side of my shoulder.

"It's too _early_ to worry about anything," I moaned to the empty sky. "Why am I awake at all?"

I waited several minutes for an answer, standing beside our tent. When I eventually decided to take a stroll around the camp, it was no surprise that my feet brought me back to the grove where Frodo and Sam were staying. Hesitating, I saw no one there to meet me, but I did not dare to enter the hobbits' tent. Seeing them yesterday had almost been too much, and I didn't know if I could do it again.

Unable to act, I stared blankly at the fluttering silken hangings separating me from my two friends. For a long time, I could do little more than shuffle my feet, for the air was chill, and I hadn't worn a cloak. I coughed into the stillness, almost ready to go back to my bed and try to sleep.

Apparently hearing my movements, someone within the hobbits' shelter thrust his head out, and I jumped at the unexpected appearance of Gandalf. Whipping back the hangings, the wizard revealed himself, looking prepared to scold Pippin or Merry for disturbing him. He found only me, though, and he softened hastily, his eyes twinkling. "Good morning — I did not think you would be up so early, Jorryn," he said.

I groaned forcefully, grumbling, "Believe me, I didn't _plan_ on being awake right now. What time is it?"

Gandalf didn't move from the entryway, one of his arms remaining up to keep the drapery out of his way. "Scarcely an hour past dawn," he said.

"Good grief, it's earlier than I thought." My head lolled, and I put my balled-up fists at either side of my waist, my spine aching. Straightening my dress and tugging at the simple chemise under my fitted bodice, I said, "I know I sound a lot like Pippin by asking this, Gandalf, but… do you think I could get something to eat?"

"I am certain that something could be found for you," Gandalf said.

I pointed vaguely to the tent, asking, "Are they — how are they doing?"

Glancing over his shoulder to check on the two unconscious hobbits inside, Gandalf said, "They have slept peacefully."

"Oh — good," I said, flipping my hair behind an ear. Gradually and pointlessly, I turned away from him and began rubbing at my shoulder again. "Where did you say I could get some breakfast?"

The wizard did not answer right away, so I changed my question. "Is anyone else up yet? Is there any point in staying awake until — "

But then the wizard's voice came suddenly and sharply, silencing me. "Jorryn!"

I felt my arms prickle with goose bumps. Gandalf had never made my name sound so urgent or intense. Hope rushed to me like a blast of electricity, and I snapped up, seeing the wizard still standing motionless in the tent's entryway, his attention riveted on something out of my sight. Wordlessly, he lifted his free arm and beckoned to me.

In slow motion, as if trapped in a horrible dream where I could not run fast enough, I picked up my skirts and went to Gandalf's side, tremors invading my limbs. At the wizard's elbow, I faltered and frowned up at him, my mind going entirely blank.

The world was moving like mud, yet every single detail stood out painfully clear to me — I saw Gandalf's head come around, slowly, his profile stark for a moment against the green trees — and then his lips curled, so very faintly, under his white beard. I felt the delicate force of his hand on my back. "Go to him, Jorryn," he said quietly.

Guided by the wizard, I moved forward, coming into the tent just in time to behold Frodo Baggins pushing himself wearily into a sitting position on his bed.

There was the instant that we saw each other, the instant that my breath was stolen from me — I froze, and disbelief filled Frodo's boyish features. I noticed first his eyes, as they widened and sparked with recognition — his beautiful, bright blue eyes, like deep pools of clear water, contrasting harshly with his ashen face and colorless lips. Stunned, the hobbit allowed his eyebrows to twitch upward and his mouth to drop open, but he did not remove his gaze from me. His trembling fingers played aimlessly across his coverlet as he shifted toward me, and I heard a gasp catch in his throat. Hints of a bewildered smile played through his expression; he looked as though he were not sure if he should laugh or cry. When he finally spoke, just above a murmur, the feeble words cracked.

"Jo," he breathed, my name weighed with fatigue and incredulity, "is this a dream?"

All at once, the world sped up again, and I found myself hurrying unthinkingly to catch up with its actions. I could not stop to consider whether or not Frodo wanted me to go to him, and I forgot completely that Gandalf was watching me — I simply closed the distance between us and fell onto the hobbit's bed beside him. I was looking at him, unable to think or speak, and then I realized that Frodo's arms were coming around me, squeezing me to his chest, clutching me desperately, warm and strong.

"Jo," he whispered with a shudder, and I felt tears dampen my hair. "Jo… I thought I would never see you again!"

My body wrenched with abrupt, uncontainable sobs, and I hugged myself feverishly to the Baggins. Our hearts were pounding together. "Frodo," I cried, over and over because I could not say anything else, "Frodo…"

_He still loves me_, I thought drearily, my brain numb with relief, _Frodo still loves me_.

The hobbit's hands moved up to my shoulders, forcing me gently away so that he could gape into my face. His eyes had grown red, and his pale cheeks were wet.

"I don't know what has happened in the world, Jo," he said, "and I almost cannot believe that it's really you."

"I'm here, Frodo," I said brokenly, reassuring myself as much as him, "I'm here with you."

He quavered — but a second later, his amazement melted into a thankful smile, and he let out a melodic laugh. The long-missed sound was like music, tingling down my every nerve and ringing beautifully within my heart, making me want to dance and weep and giggle, all at the same time. Through my sniveling, I beamed at the hobbit, and he cupped my face in his palms, his bandages scratching me. He leaned forward, touching the matted curls of his brow to mine.

"You are here with me, Jo," he echoed, distantly.

I sensed the heat of the hobbit's breath, and my eyes fell shut, my lashes still moist and salty with tears. The fingertips of his left hand traced themselves lightly along my jaw, tickling the sensitive skin, then curved under my chin and tipped my head back. Frodo bent and kissed me, fervently, shifting his hold to the base of my skull and bringing me close to him. His mouth was soft and warm, stroking mine hungrily but tenderly, playing across my lips delightfully and without any of the hesitation he'd once possessed. At that moment, everything vanished. There was nothing in the universe except the strength of Frodo's arms and the lovely, light feeling of his mouth brushing passionately against mine. When he had to pause for breath, his kisses briefly sought my cheeks and forehead, careful and faint.

"Jo," he sighed, breaking away and grinning a bit. He gave me a view of the tiny space between his front teeth. "I've missed you so much."

"Oh, Frodo, you have no idea — " I began joyously.

But a small stirring at the entryway reminded me abruptly of Gandalf's presence, and Frodo and I looked simultaneously to the serene wizard. Gandalf was waiting with his arms folded behind his back, his stare piercing the two of us, the white of his robes now glowing blindingly in the morning sunlight.

The Baggins was, again, caught off guard by the arrival of a friend he'd thought he would never see again, and he reeled. "Gandalf!" he exclaimed sharply, his voice lilting with shock. Dumbly, he studied the wizard from top to bottom. "You fell — in Moria — "

Gandalf nodded once, bowing his head somberly. "Yes, Frodo, I fell."

Frodo appeared as though he were ready to start crying for a second time, and a shaky gulp of air left him. "How can I be made to believe this is real?" he said in amazement. "It was the end of Middle-earth — I thought I was dead, and poor Sam with me!"

"No, dear Frodo, you were both saved," said Gandalf, stooping into the tent. He gestured to the sleeping Gamgee, beyond us. "Sauron's evils have left this world forever, and his Shadow has been destroyed. The Quest has been fulfilled."

"But how can it be that you are here with me?" Frodo persisted, his eyes darting to take in his surroundings. "And Jo — weren't you in Rivendell all this time? How long have I been asleep, and where are we, exactly?"

"We are in the southern reaches of Ithilien, and it has been nearly a fortnight since the destruction of Mount Doom," answered the wizard. "As for Jo and I — we each felt that our parts in this story were not yet over, and we returned to our companions to help them through the darkest of days."

"I've been in Rohan for several weeks," I explained, "in a camp near Edoras. I rode with the Dúnedain from Rivendell, and we met Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and Merry in King Théoden's company — well, he _was_ the King of Rohan, then. We went to Helm's Deep together and got split up after that."

The hobbit glanced apprehensively at Gandalf. "And where is Pippin?"

"They are all well," Gandalf chuckled, removing the worry that had briefly taken the hobbit. "They are awaiting you in the Field of Cormallen."

"They are here, all of them together?" asked Frodo breathlessly. "How did they get to Ithilien? How did Sam and I come to be here with you? How were we not consumed by Mount Doom?"

Gandalf lifted his hands to stop the hobbit from speaking further. "My dear Frodo, you have been rescued from the edge of death, and these questions are not for this moment. You should not worry for what has passed."

"Has Sam been awake?" Frodo continued, ignoring the wizard and taking a quick look back at the Gamgee.

"No," Gandalf said, his arms dropping. "It is most likely that he will not wake for several more hours."

"When can I see Merry and Pippin, and Gimli and Legolas, and Aragorn?"

"You will not meet them yet, Frodo. It is still very early in the day, and it would do you no harm to take a little more sleep."

At this, Frodo suddenly looked very tired, and he fell resignedly into his cushions, drooping. "I suppose not," he said. "But only if you're certain I'm not needed."

"No, I do not think so," Gandalf said with a gentle smile, stepping away. On his way out, he stopped in the entryway, and he shook his head and said, "No one is going to ask anything of you for quite a while, Frodo Baggins. I will allow you to rest. Sleep well, my dear hobbit."

The wizard vanished, leaving me alone with the Baggins. Silence fell around us, and I could hear Gandalf's light footsteps fade as he walked up the path to the main camp. Soon the only noises were Sam's snores and Frodo's low breathing. A few thick, uneasy seconds passed, and finally, I gave a fast, nonchalant shrug.

"I guess I'd better go, so you can sleep," I said reluctantly.

I tried to rise, but Frodo caught at my hand and prevented me from moving more than halfway off the bed. I looked at him and saw that there was something he wanted to ask me, his expression hopeful and childlike.

"You — don't have to leave," he said, at length.

"All right," I replied curiously. "Let me just go find an extra chair, and I'll — "

He interrupted me without speaking. Scooting over on the wide bed, he lifted his blankets and pulled me toward him, until I was sitting under the coverlet next to the hobbit. Surprised, I stared at him.

"I — I don't think I could bear it," the hobbit said by way of justification, lowering his eyes timidly.

I blushed furiously and did not answer, but I settled myself beside him, unable to ignore the comfortable warmth of his small form, so close. Sighing with relief, Frodo dropped back on his pillow and laid his injured hand upon his chest, examining me as I arranged myself alongside him.

I snuggled into the cool pillowcase, cautiously turning into the hobbit and shyly placing my head into the curve of his neck, grateful that the Ring no longer hung there. I had not dared to wish for something like this in my lifetime; I was overjoyed that the Baggins would turn to me for such comfort, even after all our time apart.

Frodo brought his lips to the top of my head in one final, tender kiss. "I dreamed of you, Jo, through all the ash and smoke," he mumbled absently.

My heart was soaring, and glee was bubbling within me, but Frodo was already beginning to drift off. His ribs rose and fell under my chin, and his subtle, steady exhalations stirred my curls. His free hand was near my leg, on the sheets, so I reached for it with my left and slipped my fingers between his, feeling as contented as I had ever been in my life. My skirts were twisted around my legs, and Frodo's heartbeat was in my ear — but I could not have been more comfortable. I had to bite my lip to stifle an elated cry.

"I dreamed of you, too, Frodo," I whispered, though I knew he had long been asleep. "I dreamed of you, too." 


	40. The Return of the King

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own any of Tolkien's characters or the world he created. The only character of mine (Jorryn) has decided to take a holiday in Tolkien's Middle-earth. No copyright infringement on any of J. R. R. Tolkien's works is intended. Jorryn, Léodthain, and Dréorhyse are my pals... don't steal 'em.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Wow. I owe everyone a _huge_ apology for taking so long with this update. But I have excuses:) First of all: Real Life. I put a note up on my "author's page" about a month ago to let everyone know that my computer had crashed, which is one reason this update took forever. Something was wrong with the registry, blah, blah, blah, and I couldn't even get past the _Windows 98_ logo. I had my files saved elsewhere, but still, it slowed me up considerately. It's a miracle it's working now, honestly. Anyway, second: I didn't like this chapter when I was about, eh... halfway through with it. I chopped out a huge hunk and rewrote it. And third: I was out of town a lot. Sorry.

At any rate, I hope you like this chapter. It may still be a little rough, because I tried to get it up as quickly as possible, so I'd appreciate feedback, or e-mails, or anything. :) Really, I'd love to hear from you all. Thank you so, so much for reading. Please enjoy.

**39**

I awoke slowly, vague impressions of my surroundings coming to me as my mind stirred for the first time in several hours — I was wrapped in warm blankets on a large cot, and unsteady sunlight was shifting on and off my closed eyelids, coming down through branches and leaves into the tent where I rested. One of my hands was curled on top of my coverlet, and I soon felt that it was covered by someone else's — a bandaged palm. I remembered that I was in Sam and Frodo's pavilion.

_Sam and Frodo's pavilion_.

I opened my eyes to see Frodo Baggins, the Ring-bearer himself, his boyish features just a few centimeters away from me on the pillow that we were still sharing. He was not yet awake, looking more adorable than I had ever seen him, golden light shimmering in his dark hair. Color had come to his cheeks, and his thin lips were pink. His injured hand was settled delicately upon mine.

Remembering our meeting from earlier that morning and the wonderful sensation of his kisses, I blushed needlessly, but unquenchable elation welled up in me. I bit my tongue and shifted my legs slightly under the blankets, smiling stupidly at the oblivious hobbit.

"Well," someone grunted suddenly from the end of the bed, "you seemed to have made yourself comfortable, Milady."

Startled, I lifted my head and saw Gandalf standing over me, his hands folded behind his back. The wizard's gaze was on us, his bright eyes shining with amusement and father-like delight. At my surprised expression, he began to chuckle, and the folds of his rich white cloak shook gently with the low rumble of his laugh.

"He wanted company," I explained, my face flaming awkwardly. Moving slowly, I slid away from Frodo and slipped my hand away from his, and I rose carefully from the mattress. I tried to avoid Gandalf's teasing stare by rearranging my skirts, going on, "I thought I should stay with him, since he asked."

"It is well," the wizard said, waving it away, but not losing his wry tone. He stepped closer to peer at the sleeping Baggins. "I'm sure he has not had so much rest in months. A few small comforts will do him good, I think."

At his sarcasm, my mouth quirked in wordless thanks, and I asked, "What time is it?"

"Several hours since you first awoke, nearly noon."

Glad for my nap, I stretched pleasantly. "What's been going on in the camp?"

"Preparations are being made for the banquet honoring Sam and Frodo," the wizard replied. "I alerted Aragorn that they would soon awake, and everyone is eager to receive them."

"Of course — the banquet, for Frodo and Sam," I echoed, torn between excitement and nervousness. "Are Merry and Pip going to come and visit here before then?"

"I believe those two are busy aiding Aragorn and Éomer," he said. "They will meet us in the Field."

Gandalf turned away to the opposite cot, pulling up one of his billowy sleeves and bending over Sam. His long, old fingers played through the hobbit's sandy hair as he checked some wound on the side of his curly head. I watched the wizard silently and wondered what exactly was to happen at the banquet. A good deal of celebration, and many ceremonial things, I was sure.

At length, I piped up, "Er — Gandalf, do you know what I'm supposed to _do_ during this whole thing? Just hang about and keep quiet, or what? Should I help Merry serve Éomer?"

"No, there's no need for that," Gandalf said, over his shoulder and with a kind smile. Straightening, he tucked one thumb under the leather belt hanging loosely about his waist and faced me again. "Merry and Pippin will tend to their kings, but there is no work for a Lady of the Shire to do today."

Contented warmth rose in me, and I cocked my head to better hear the oft-used title. "I guess not," I said, "since Éowyn is still in Minas Tirith."

Gandalf asked, "Was the White Lady well?"

"I think so, as far as I could tell," I said tentatively, scratching at the inside of my wrist. "She seemed happier than she was in Harrowdale."

The wizard made a faint, wry noise in his throat. "But aren't we all happier than we were in those days?"

"That's true," I acquiesced, remembering my time in Rohan. A second later, I added, "By the way, I forgot to ask you whether you got my message from the Eagle or not, when I was still in Dunharrow."

"Indeed — 'the Lady of the Shire is now in Rohan', I believe it was," the wizard quoted, nodding. His countenance became momentarily grim. "It was a strange thing to hear from one who was supposed to be in Imladris."

"Well, I was still in hiding when I left Rivendell — somewhat," I flushed. "I was safe in Rohan, though. After the War was over, I just wanted you to know I was on my way. I sent word through the Eagle because only a few were aware that I had gone East in the first place."

"I fear I was not one of those knowledgeable few."

"Yes, I am sorry for that," I said, explaining hastily, "but I don't think there was any risk of my capture. Sauron and Saruman couldn't have spotted me, with everything that was already going on. The Dark Lord's gaze was on Minas Tirith, and Saruman was trapped in Isengard."

Gandalf's bushy eyebrows twitched, and at last he relented, "That is very true."

Swallowing timidly, I prodded, "Would you rather have had me stay in Rivendell?"

"No — those whose choice it was to let you into the world are very wise, and I do not doubt them," he said. I shrugged helplessly, preparing to offer more details in my defense — but he held up a hand and interrupted gently, "It is of little importance now, wouldn't you agree?"

"I _am_ sorry, Gandalf," I repeated, in the manner of a chastised child.

He laughed gently and knelt to me. "All is well, Jorryn. The Shadow is ended, and fear and doubt have been taken from all of us. I know your trials were as difficult as anyone's, and I do not mean to scold you for having wanted to be a part of our cause."

I grimaced and shook my head, glancing toward Frodo's mangled hand. "I wouldn't say that I had _trials_ — some of you fought Balrogs, or got captured by Orcs, or looked into Sauron's Eye." I ticked the stupendous tasks off on my fingers. "I, however, just existed."

"You give yourself too little credit."

"But you give me far too much," I countered.

The wizard's eyes flashed threateningly, and he pushed himself to his full height. "You are a hobbit to the core, Jorryn," he said, giving an exasperated huff. "You have grown as brazen and troublesome as Peregrin and Meriadoc."

I twisted my countenance into a mocking smile, half-bowing. "Then I had better leave before you have to boot me out, my lord."

Gandalf smiled. "Yes, you had better."

"I'll see you at the banquet," I said merrily, turning and ducking under the canvas entryway of the pavilion.

My mind went quickly to business once I had left Frodo's tent. Deciding I should probably start getting cleaned up for the celebration, I walked briskly up the path leading out of the clearing where Sam and Frodo's tent was assembled, the long grass brushing against my bare ankles. Pulling at my curls and peeking down at my rumpled dress, I was sure I appeared disheveled and dirty. Would it be improper for me to trek down to the river for a quick wash? What in the world was I supposed to wear, anyway? Certainly, I had no wish to embarrass Frodo or King Éomer, so I had to do something about my untidiness —

"Ho there, Jo!"

I stopped and looked up to find Peregrin Took coming toward me on the trail, in full Citadel uniform, his sword at his waist and his long velvet surcoat rustling as he bounded up to me. I noticed that the long sleeves of the shirt he wore under his surcoat were a vivid burgundy, quilted in a diamond pattern, quite striking against the solid black. The White Tree embroidered into his chest glinted in the sunlight, momentarily blinding.

"Hello, Pip," I greeted him.

"There you are, Jo! You disappeared this morning," he said in his pleasant, singsong manner. "I hear Frodo and Sam are awake — have you been to see them?"

"Frodo woke up this morning, but Sam's still out. I'm just coming back from their pavilion," I informed him. "What are you doing, running around? I thought you were supposed to be helping Aragorn."

We turned to continue up the path to Pippin's tent on its nearby knoll. The camp had come alive around us, and soldiers were bustling between the trees and down the trail, bowing quickly to us as they passed, and the air was thick with excitement for the forthcoming banquet.

"Help Aragorn?" the hobbit simpered, but not ungratefully. "Hasn't anyone told you that I'm merely a ceremonial decoration, Jo? I did offer to help him, but he assured me he could take care of himself. I came looking for you, actually, so that I might offer my services elsewhere."

When I only frowned at him inquisitively, he added, "Merry and I had washbasins brought to our tent earlier, and your gowns have aired out. After you've cleaned and dressed, do you — " He halted swiftly, thinking twice, sneaking a glance at me. "Well, it's been so long since I last had a chance to have a bit of fun with your hair — "

Finally comprehending, I squeaked delightedly, "Of course, Pip! I don't know why you even have to ask."

I stuck my arm through his, and I felt it relax, the muscles slackening with the release of his breath. "Well… it's been so long," the Took repeated, distant and thoughtful. The odd statement ended our brief conversation.

At his pavilion, he held the entryway back for me and told me he would stand guard while I got ready. I slipped inside, nearly tripping on the piles of shirts, trousers, and vests that Merry and Pip had evidently left scattered all about our cots. _Just like hobbits, to make such a mess_. I found the washbasins on my bed and hurriedly undressed, scrubbing my grubby skin raw and wondering when I had last had a _real_ bath. Holding my nose shut, I even dipped my entire head into one of the basins and clawed at my scalp. I had realized that my curls had gone slightly flat from being dirty for so long, but once I had wrung them out and toweled the ends dry, my hair was bouncy yet again. Hopefully, it had even retained some of its shine.

I dressed in the Rohirric gown that Léodthain had given me in Edoras and set aside its matching sun-shaped broach. It seemed appropriate. I served Éowyn, but more importantly, I served the Mark, and for once, a hobbit-dress or an Elvish gown would not do. When I was satisfied with myself, I began kicking aside Merry and Pippin's mounds of clothing to make room, calling toward the entry, "Pippin, you can come in now!"

The hobbit flipped back the canvas, scrutinized me from toe to tip where he stood, and nodded once, pursing his lips approvingly around a grin. "A nice, clean little Lady you make," he remarked mischievously. "That's how I remember you."

He dragged one of our cots away from the tent wall so that it jutted out from the others, and I sat down with my back to him. His fingers were immediately buried in my hair, twisting and tugging.

"Is anything — on your mind?" I wondered of his strange behavior, the question broken by the jerks of my skull.

"Why — _should_ I have something on my mind, Milady?" he returned ambiguously.

I glowered into the empty space in front of me, my curiosity intensifying. I had not known Pippin to act so melancholy or wistful before, and it unnerved me. "Don't call me 'milady' if you only wish to make fun, Peregrin Took," I grumbled.

"You know I mean you no harm, dearest Jo," he laughed. A moment later, he thrust several long pieces of shiny brown material around my shoulder and said, "Hold these ribbons, please."

Taking them, I stared. "Where did you get these?"

"From a girl in Minas Tirith," he responded idly.

"Why would a girl give you hair ribbons?" I demanded, incredulous.

The hobbit hesitated, pulling my hair unnecessarily taut so that I hissed at the pain. He coughed, and I could tell that he was suddenly uncomfortable. "She was — very young," he said. The fingers working my curls slowed as he thought back to his time in Minas Tirith. "I suppose she recognized me as a Guard of the Citadel, but she was too frightened to ask any of the real soldiers for aid. It was during the siege — she didn't know where her mother was. I was looking for Gandalf — I couldn't really help her — so I left her with another family. She gave me the ribbons before they left for another level of the city."

Involuntarily, my eyes went to the tiny pieces of fabric in my palm, my heart tightening. Was this girl still alive? How many like her had been lost? I had seen the wreckage the siege had left behind, the scars on the white face of the city, the piles of rubble on the streets. How would a little girl be able to survive something like that on her own? I could not imagine what those days in Minas Tirith had been like, or how Pippin had lived with such death and destruction all around him.

I was drawn out of my thoughts when the hobbit snatched up one of the ribbons and secured a section of my hair with it. He continued for many minutes in silence, taking his time. My scalp soon stung from all his yanking.

At last, his voice came abruptly from behind me. "So… has Frodo asked you yet?"

"Asked me?" I said. "Asked me what?"

There was an awkward pause, and the hobbit took the last ribbon gently from my hand.

"Pippin, has he asked me what? What are you talking about?"

Slowly tying the final ribbon, he murmured, almost only to himself, "I suppose it's too soon for that, then."

Like he had always done in the Shire, he tickled the back of my neck to inform me he was finished, and I reached up to feel what he had made of my mess of tangles. As far as I could tell, he'd left a good deal of my hair loose around my shoulders, but with the ribbons he'd tied a few small upper sections into a sort of random, interconnecting net over the rest. I patted it absentmindedly.

I didn't turn to face him, so he came around to the other side of the cot and plopped down next to me. I sat and waited for him to explain himself, but he said and did nothing until he bent to retrieve a splendid black robe from the ground nearby. It had a high, stand-up collar and was lined with deep red taffeta, its edges decorated with beautiful gold brocade. The Took threw it over his shoulders and then shot me an adorable and unflustered grin, acting as if he'd not said anything peculiar the instant before.

"Well, Lady Jorryn… are we ready?"

Pippin and I walked through the camp and through the clusters of tall trees, traveling the same footpath that had brought Merry and me from the boats at Cair Andros. The going was much slower without horses, and we soon also found that everyone else in Cormallen had decided to go to the Field at precisely the same time as we had. With a deftness that only hobbits possessed, Pippin growled at the throng in annoyance, snatched up my hand, and pulled me behind him, winding a way through the crowd of Rohirric and Gondorian men.

We came into the open of the riverside meadow, and it was the same as I had last seen it — ships were rocking steadily on the sandy shore, and flags bearing the colors of the Mark and of the White City were hung at the edges of the wide space. A hundred gallant-looking men were lining the area, standing rank upon rank with swords and shields in hand, the silver of their mail shining in the sunlight. The White Tree was proudly displayed on their standards, helmets, shields, and tunics.

"I've got to find Aragorn," Pippin said, searching the area.

Strider wasn't hard to spot. At the far end of the Field, there was a raised mound of earth where three thrones had been placed, behind which flew the flags of Dol Amroth, Gondor, and Rohan — blue, sable, and green against the dark mass of forest behind them. Aragorn was sitting regally in the middle seat with his sword across his knees, and Meriadoc Brandybuck was before him. The hobbit, wearing his familiar sword-thain outfit, was speaking and laughing with the kingly man.

"He's right there, with Merry," I informed Pippin.

Seeing them, Peregrin lead me through a wide aisle formed between the companies of men waiting to receive Frodo and Sam. As we walked to meet Aragorn and Merry, I got the unpleasant but typical sense of being watched, a hundred piercing eyes following our progress to the thrones. But once we reached them, Meriadoc pivoted to us with a broad smile, and Strider stood, opening his arms to us.

"Welcome — Pippin, Jorryn," he said, putting his hands on our shoulders and nodding to each of us.

"We wondered when you'd get here," piped up Merry from the man's elbow. "Your hair looks nice, Jo — I haven't seen it curly like that since Rivendell."

"Thank you. I just never had a chance to fix it between then and now," I shrugged.

"And what do you think of old Strider?" the Brandybuck went on, gesturing proudly to Aragorn, as though the man's handsomeness was his doing. At the hobbit's manners, the Ranger showed his straight teeth in a rare, open-mouthed smile.

I leaned back and peered at him. "All he lacks is a crown, I think," I said.

"That day has not yet come, Jo," Aragorn said kindly. "For now, we must welcome two of our other friends — Frodo and Sam are coming even as we speak." Aragorn nodded to the end of the Field over our heads.

The noise from the soldiers started before I had the chance to turn around — raucous cheering exploded in the air behind us, and, squinting against the uproar, I saw that all the men gathered in the space in front of us were banging their swords and spears upon their shields, shouting, "Long live the Halflings! Praise them with great praise!"

"Where are they?" I asked Pippin loudly. "Have they come yet?"

And then Frodo and Sam themselves came into view, their cheeks colored a vivid scarlet, their heads ducked self-consciously at the chorus of admiration raised around them. Gandalf was following behind the pair, smiling smugly and calmly prodding them along. The hobbits were dressed in rich tunics, both deep colors of beautiful velvet, which appeared to be of Elvish make. I could see the cuffs of their plain shirts and the knees of their simple pants where the tunics ended. Over everything else, they had pinned dark cloaks.

I put my fist to my mouth to stifle an excited squeal. Sam — my dear Sam! It was the first time I had truly seen him since Rivendell, and I caught my breath when he appeared… at Frodo's side, as always. He was the same — round-faced and adorable, his wide, dark eyes taking everything about him in with a sort of puzzled interest. The Gamgee's sandy hair was mussed, but his large, pointy ears were still visible among the untidy curls, and his thin mouth was drawn into a tight, keen line. Frodo twisted to look back at his companion briefly, and they shared a glance that communicated how overwhelmed they both obviously felt.

Watching them come closer, I bit my lip and felt my heart swell with pride. I thought I may declare to the whole world right then that these were _my_ hobbits — these two who had played such a huge part in saving Middle-earth were _my_ friends.

Without warning, Merry and Pippin responded to some unseen cue and shifted to stand at either side of me, touching my arms, flanking me, and the three of us slipped off the grassy dais to wait to the side.

"Oh, it is good to see them again," breathed Merry quietly, once we were situated.

Halfway to us, Sam and Frodo perceived the raised thrones and the single man standing in front of them, and Frodo gave a startled cry. "Aragorn!" he shouted, running forward with Samwise at his heels.

"Well, isn't this the crown of all," Sam said, bewildered. He spoke with the same sweet, lilting innocence that I remembered, his words brightened by relief and joy. "It's Strider, or I'm still asleep!"

"Yes, my friends — Strider," the Ranger chuckled. "We've come a long way from Bree, where you didn't like the look of me. A long way for us all, but yours has been the darkest road."

A hint of a smile passed through the man's features, and he bowed to the pair of hobbits, taking their hands and leading them to the highest throne under the flag of Gondor. When they were seated, Aragorn called over the Field, echoing the previous cheer. "Praise them with great praise!"

And all of Cormallen rang with shouts and laughter and tears, words of Elves and Men lifted in thanks to the two hobbits. I waited with Merry and Pippin, cheering with all the rest, and our cheeks soon grew wet from weeping.

_Long live the Halflings! Praise them with great praise! _

_Cuio i Pheriain anann! Aglar'ni Pheriannath! _

_Praise them with great praise, Frodo and Samwise! _

Sam and Frodo continued to look happily embarrassed, seated together on the throne, their expressions timid. Merry and Pippin squeezed me between them, raising their fists into the air triumphantly. I looked at them all, drinking in the wonderful warmth and sweet bliss of the gathering, thinking that this was what I had wished for since the departure of the Fellowship — to be together again, happy and whole.

After the noise died down, Aragorn went to Sam and Frodo once more, murmuring, "And now we shall feast in your honor, friends." They rose, and Aragorn escorted them away from the thrones and into the trees beyond. I noticed through the dark branches and leaves that several large pavilions had been constructed behind the grove, near the riverbank, their great outlines pale against the darkening day.

As Strider, Frodo, and Sam walked away, Gandalf came behind them, glancing back at Merry, Pippin, and I just in time to nod toward us, signaling for us to follow. After our group came the first ranks of the company. The feasting and merriment was about to begin.

"At last, time for a bit of supper!" Pippin said happily. "Sam and Frodo looked well, didn't they?"

"They did," Merry nodded, his eyes on the hem of Gandalf's cloak, just in front of us. "You went to see them this morning, didn't you, Jo?"

"Yes, but they weren't both awake then," I said. "I don't think they've seen you, yet, so you'd better catch them before they start eating."

"I think they didn't recognize us," Merry said, moving his hand instinctively to the hilt of his sword. "And anyway, we won't be able to sit down and chat for some time. Pip and I have to serve Aragorn and Éomer."

"I told you we were meant only for ceremonies," Pippin smirked, nudging me.

We entered the huge banquet tent, and I was reminded of a certain Party I'd attended so long ago in the Shire. Ahead of us, Gandalf suddenly turned around and bent to me, saying, "You will be sitting at the King's table, Jorryn — Aragorn will tell you where to go." Frowning at Merry and Pippin, the wizard added sternly, "Shouldn't you two be waiting on your masters?"

The hobbits scuttled off without argument, and I remained following Gandalf more slowly, trying to catch a glimpse of Frodo and Sam walking before me. We reached the main table, which was long and set with a green tablecloth, and I saw a few of the high captains that Pippin had said were at the last battle. There was the Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, tall and fair as an Elf, and Gimli and Legolas a few chairs down, and then finally Éomer and Aragorn waiting at the middlemost seats. Everyone was settling into their places, but Frodo and Sam seemed to have been lost in the bustle.

For a moment, I wasn't certain about so boldly approaching a table of such noble lords, and I was considering breaking away to look for Frodo, but then Gimli saw me and waved.

"You are joining us, are you not, Lady Jorryn?" he bellowed.

Many of the men stopped what they were doing and stared directly at me, and I sensed my heart pounding fiercely against my ribs. At least I now had a reason to walk up to them, but I would have preferred to do so more discreetly.

Near the Dwarf, Aragorn noticed me, halted his conversation with Éomer, and beckoned. "Please sit with us, Jorryn," the man invited, pointing out a chair a few spaces down from him, at his right, beside Legolas and Gimli. I guessed that the places he left open were for Gandalf, Frodo, and Sam.

"Thank you, Strider," I said gratefully.

He smiled at the old nickname and returned to Éomer, and I settled myself next to Legolas, smoothing my skirts.

"_Mae govannen_, Mistadiel," the Elf murmured, dipping his golden head in a brief bow. He was without his usual green outer tunic or leather vambraces — he was dressed only in a basic, silver-gray shirt with long, embroidered sleeves.

"Hello, Legolas," I greeted warmly, grinning into his smooth, beautiful face. I stretched to see around him and added, "Good to see you, too, Gimli."

"Greetings, Jorryn," the Dwarf nodded, the black of his eyes shining under his bushy red eyebrows. "This is a grand affair, is it not?"

"A very grand affair," I said, "but Frodo and Sam and the rest of you all deserve it."

"Without a doubt, our little Halfling friends have needed to be recognized for a long time," Gimli rumbled. "You know all of what they went through in Mordor, do you not?"

"Yes," I said, nodding vaguely.

His rough features puckered slightly, and he gave a low _harrumph_. "It must be unpleasant knowledge to keep."

"Well, it's not the same as _living_ through it, of course," I said meekly, "but I hope to be a comfort to Frodo and Sam, because I have some idea of what they experienced."

"There is no doubt that you are a great cheer to them, Mistadiel," Legolas assured, leaning toward me. "Pippin and Merry have been changed by your coming already, and you will soon give the same relief to Frodo and Sam."

"The Lady is a help to everyone's spirits, Master Elf," Gimli said loudly, taking up his goblet and beginning to drink messily from it. He slurped, and ale dribbled through the wiry hairs of his beard. I started to thank him for his remark, but I was interrupted by a muffled belch, and my mouth snapped shut.

From alongside me, a sound escaped through Legolas's nose that may have been a soft sigh. "Forgive him, Mistadiel," the Elf said lightly, not looking at either of us.

I tried to keep from giggling, ducking my head, but at that moment I sensed a faint pressure on my left shoulder. A small voice inquired, "Might I sit beside you, Milady?"

I jerked about in my chair to find Frodo Baggins standing over me, hands behind his back, a small smile tugging at his lips. Waiting dutifully behind him was Sam Gamgee, and when he saw me, his jaw slackened.

"Sam, Frodo — I've been waiting for you!" I cried, leaping up.

I made way for them to slide into their seats, but instead Sam rushed up to me and grabbed for my fingers, tripping over several words before finally forcing out, "Miss Jo — I never imagined I'd see you here! I thought you were still with the Elves, so far away in Rivendell. First, we hear that Gandalf has come back from the dead, and Aragorn has been made a king, and now this! It's too much, Milady!"

I grinned down at the hobbit, loving the feeling of his small, warm, trembling hands in mine. It was plain that dear Sam was not overly scarred by his days in Mordor; he was still as honest and charming as he had been the day I met him in Bag End's garden. His dark eyes shone, fixed upon me steadily.

My heart swelled with adoration for him, and I bent to kiss his forehead. "Oh, Sam, how I've missed you," I said into his curly fringe.

"But how did you get here, Miss Jo?" he persisted.

"Let's sit down, shall we, Sam?" Frodo interposed politely. "I'm sure there will be plenty of time for tales after supper."

In a few minutes, Gandalf reappeared and took the place next to Aragorn, and Sam seated himself between the wizard and Frodo, who had put himself beside me. A great mass was gathered in our tent, and a low roar of voices filled the grassy air around us. Watching them from my spot at the high table, I sunk into my chair, eager for the feast to begin. The moment I had managed to arrange myself comfortably, I noticed that Strider was getting to his feet before the company, and everyone else was following his example.

Frodo helped me to stand, and he said, noting my palpable confusion, "The Men of Númenor face west before every meal. They do it to remember their ancient lands across the Sea."

After a moment of silence, Aragorn nodded, and the party was seated once more. A dozen menservants emerged from one side at this signal, bringing wine and carrying trays of bread, fruit, and meat. Cheering broke out in one corner of the pavilion, and the men at our table laughed softly. As we waited, I saw that among the servants were two small stewards who came to wait on Strider and Éomer, and I instantly recognized them both.

But Samwise exclaimed, flabbergasted, "Why, Mr. Frodo, look at that! It's Pippin and Merry! Bless me, look at them — I can see there's more tales to tell than ours."

Bending down to give Aragorn his flagon of wine, Pippin said primly, "There are indeed, Sam, and we'll begin telling them as soon as this feast is ended. For the present, Merry and I are busy."

"We are knights of the City and of the Mark, as we hope you observe," Meriadoc added.

They hurried away, and Sam blew a lungful of air out after them, shaking his head. "Knights, Mr. Frodo? Things _have _changed since we've been away."

Full, steaming plates were placed in front of us, and Frodo shot a smile in my direction. "Some things changed," the hobbit said dimly.

"I suppose I should ask what trouble you've gotten yourself into, Miss Jo," Sam said around his master. He leaned forward with his elbows on the table, gripping his cup. "I don't think I could take any more surprises."

I took a small bite of bread and grinned at him. I answered, "I left Rivendell to come to Rohan early this year, Sam. Somehow or other, I came under the service of King Théoden of the Mark and his niece, Éowyn, while I was there."

"I wondered about your dress," the Gamgee nodded.

Glancing down at myself, I smoothed the rich fabric. "Yes — but I really haven't done anything all this time, unfortunately. I helped a little in a refuge in the mountains, called _Dunharrow_, and I was there until everything was over and I knew I could come to Gondor."

Frodo bristled slightly. "Could you — could you _tell_," he asked, "when it happened?"

"Yes," I said, "I knew when it had been done. The Shadow was over Rohan nearly the whole time I was there, and it broke the moment the Ring was destroyed."

Closing his eyes against those memories, the hobbit bowed his head and breathed deeply, and Sam piped up helpfully, "I wouldn't be surprised if all of Middle-earth knew the moment that it happened, sir, what with that monster of an explosion inside the Mountain. It was bigger than any firework Gandalf has ever set off, Miss Jo, if you can believe that…"

The rest of the banquet passed without incident. Frodo and Sam ate heartily, and they often became so engrossed in their meal that Legolas and Gimli were the only ones able to converse with me. All along our table, the men were laughing and speaking genially to one another, all recent Darkness far from anyone's mind. Gandalf was relaxing back in his chair, a cloud of customary pipe-weed smoke floating around his snowy-white head, his bright gaze flicking around the wide, boisterous space. Aragorn was still turned away to Éomer and Imrahil, speaking to them of kingly things, no doubt. To my right, Legolas and Gimli were musing amicably about the origin of apples — both insisted that they were an invention of their own race.

An hour later, the party had not even begun to settle down. I had sat back and cupped my chin in my palm, allowing myself to slip into my own thoughts, when I heard a gruff voice in my ear.

"Come, Jorryn," Gandalf commanded.

Frodo, Sam, and I rose and left the table, following Gandalf out of the back of the pavilion and into the trees. The day had ended, and the moon had climbed above the rustling treetops, filling Cormallen with an ethereal silvery glow. Behind the whisper of the leaves I heard the mellifluous gurgling of the River Anduin, and I caught the flash of moonlight off its rushing surface through the trees. Gandalf took us to a small clearing in the wood, a good distance from the Field. Pippin and Merry were already there, waiting for us at the riverside.

The pair jumped up at our arrival, ran to Frodo and Sam, and proceeded to tackle them both to the ground. I moved aside with Gandalf as the four tangled themselves in a laughing, tumbling mass in the leaves and grass, all of them speaking at once.

"You can't imagine what it was like in Minas Tirith without — "

" — and he said there was no hope, but I knew you'd come through — "

" — it's been too long, why didn't you wake earlier?"

"Meriadoc Brandybuck, you're suffocating me — "

At last the hobbits sat up, breathless and tearstained, and Gandalf and I chuckled lovingly to see them together again. We rested on a mound of turf on the riverbank, Frodo beside me with his hand in mine, and the telling of all our stories began. Pippin and Merry talked the most, of course, animatedly explaining their capture by the Orcs of Saruman, their meeting with Treebeard and the Ents, and their adventures in Rohan and Gondor. After a while Gimli, Legolas, and Aragorn joined us. The Took and Brandybuck enlisted their help for their reenactments, and Frodo and Sam watched raptly, sharing Gandalf's pipe-weed and filling the area with the familiar smoky odor. From Aragorn we learned of the Paths of the Dead and the corsairs whose ships he, Gimli, and Legolas had taken from the south to Gondor to the Battle of the Pelennor. Gandalf added much about the battle, remembering all of what he had seen from the heights of the White City.

But I knew all of this already, and was there simply to enjoy the company of my friends. Throughout the storytelling I found myself turning to Frodo, observing his reaction to some exciting fact and noting how the moonlight caught in his eyes. It grew later and later in the night, and I became more tired. I was listening to Pippin explain the madness of Denethor when I placed my head comfortably on Frodo's shoulder and fell fast asleep, the voices of my companions fading to a quiet murmur in the back of my mind.

* * *

What was left of March passed in a flurry of activity, and April disappeared twice as quickly. All that time I spent with my hobbits and the rest of the Fellowship. We explored Ithilien, venturing as far north as Henneth Annûn, where Frodo and Sam had met Faramir and his company on their journey. We offered our services to the wounded men still in Cormallen, bringing them food and fresh bandages when they were needed and giving them our company when they were lonely. We wasted many afternoons resting in the grass somewhere along the river, the hobbits drinking and smoking, Frodo dictating his story to me as I wrote it down in a leather-bound journal — the very same thing I had done for Bilbo in Rivendell.

But no matter what we were doing, I was never without one of my hobbits, and I could not have been happier. With Sam I talked about the weather, Oliphaunts, and the lack of potatoes in the area. Merry and I discussed possible pranks to play on Aragorn. Pippin asked me what I thought about Gondor and Faramir, and he told me details of his service to Denethor. And Frodo and I spoke of anything and everything.

Just before the end of April, the camp at Cormallen was disbanded, and Aragorn took the Fellowship, the Captains of the West, and me aboard his ship, and we sailed south, back to Osgiliath. Samwise was a little wary of the boats and walked slowly with one hand out to brace himself at first, but he became accustomed to the unsteady rocking of the vessel quickly. Pippin and Merry enjoyed throwing things off the sides, trying to hit things on the nearby shores. Frodo and I, content to merely watch, sat on the deck and basked in the fine daylight, the salty wind turning our cheeks red.

In a day we came to the ruins of Osgiliath. There, we were met by the guard of the Citadel and the soldiers of the Mark that had brought me to Gondor. It was a crisp, dreamy afternoon, and the standards held by many of the soldiers flew against a backdrop of blue sky. Minas Tirith, across the verdant Pelennor, shone like pearl in the sun. Walking down the ship's gangplank, Frodo and Sam shielded their eyes and squinted at the magnificent White City.

The Gamgee whistled. "I don't think Strider could have picked a better place to be king of, and no mistake."

On Pippin's arm, I grinned at the hobbit and unclasped my cloak from my shoulders. Aragorn had gone down before us and was chatting with a man in a winged helmet, and Legolas had stopped at the end of the rampway to help us off. His radiant gaze sparkled as he took my arm and made sure I didn't fall on my way to land.

"Lady Jorryn!"

My head came up, and I saw that Léodthain and Dréorhyse were near the front of the guard where all the Captains of the West were readying for the ride to Minas Tirith. Éomer was with them, already perched on a tall white stallion. Beside them all was a small, gold pony.

"Bronwe!" I cried, breaking away and running to her. My lovely pony tossed her majestic head and whinnied quietly, and I brushed her long mane out of her eyes, realizing how much I had missed her. I smiled up at the three men and told Léodthain, "Thank you for bringing her, sire."

"We couldn't have had you walk back to the City, Milady," the man smirked.

Soon we learned that horses had been brought for the hobbits, as well. Once all were assembled, we set off from the ruined city across the Fields, Aragorn and the other Captains leading us, followed by Gandalf on Shadowfax, Legolas and Gimli both on a brown steed, and then the hobbits and me on five little ponies. Evening fell before we reached the City, but it did not hinder us, for Aragorn stopped the company at a cluster of large, round tents constructed halfway across the Fields.

"We will rest here tonight," Aragorn shouted over his shoulder, and the entire host dismounted.

Pippin slipped to the ground and asked Gandalf, "Why aren't we going on, Gandalf? We can't be more than a couple of miles away from the gates."

"It is the Eve of May, Peregrin Took," answered the wizard, leaning on his staff while he alighted on the ground. "The king will ride to his coronation with the rising of the sun."

Ignoring the white face of the City glowering down upon me, I unbuckled several of my saddlebags and looked to the darkening horizon. I suddenly realized that there were more lights, far-off on the Pelennor beyond the undulating hills to the north, too close to us to be outside the walls of the Rammas Echor. I frowned, trying to see in the twilight, but I was unable to distinguish any shapes or guess their number.

My bags bundled in my arms, I poked Gandalf in his side with a free finger. "What are those lights across the Fields, Gandalf?"

The wizard followed my stare, and when he spotted the small, glowing pinpricks, a slow smile spread across his old features. "Ah," he said simply. "It is Lord Elrond's camp."

The hobbits and I stood watching the distant camp for several seconds. "Well," Merry remarked, at length, "it's nice of them to come, isn't it?"

The morning came, brilliant and golden, and in Minas Tirith bells rang over the Pelennor, and banners were unfurled, and all the people of the City went to the high walls to await our arrival. At sunrise, Gandalf came to the tent that I had shared with the hobbits, and he bade Merry, Pippin, and I to dress in the colors of the lands we served, and Frodo and Sam to wear the Elvish robes given to them in Cormallen.

"You five are riding in the King's guard," the wizard said, solemnly watching us get ready in the entryway to our pavilion. "You will follow the Captains of the West into the Citadel."

My heart clenched in fear — such an honor was too much, and I knew I would feel terribly out of place. "Gandalf, are you sure?" I asked worriedly. "Is there anywhere else I could stay while — "

Gandalf shook his head patiently. "It is Aragorn's _wish_ that you ride with him, Jorryn. I will not have this argument with you again."

The others looked at me in confusion, and I blushed, but Gandalf said nothing more.

We emerged to discover a great host, hundreds of soldiers, all clothed in the black and silver of Gondor and amassed behind Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Prince Imrahil, and Éomer. Aragorn was clad in a long shirt of mail and a flowing black cloak, looking much different from the Strider I had known. The sun was at our backs, glinting off armor and spearheads and glowing on the ramparts of Minas Tirith. All were silent. Gandalf walked with us to our four ponies and helped me to mount, then went to Shadowfax and climbed effortlessly onto the horse's smooth back. A horn was blown, and our ride began.

It was the strangest thing, to trot along behind Gandalf, Aragorn, and the others next to four hobbits, but it became even stranger when we entered Minas Tirith itself. It seemed that all of Gondor had come to see Aragorn's coronation. We first saw the throngs of people in the courtyard of the city, crowded into every corner of the area — men, women, and children in modest, unadorned clothing, all dark-haired and bright-eyed, their gazes lifted expectantly and reverently to their new king. Many of them were holding small children on their shoulders, lifting them above the crowds, and others brandished small flags or pennants. Cheering, the people waved and applauded and threw white flower petals into the air over our heads. And it was the same on every circle of the City — they were packed along the streets, leaving a very narrow lane for us to pass through.

In this way, we came to the Citadel in the highest level of Minas Tirith, where the skeleton of the lifeless White Tree stood by its tranquil Fountain. We came down from our horses and left them, walking down the stone path to the King's house. The roar of the people was deafening, and the shine of the sun on all the silver helms of the Guards of the Citadel was blinding. There was more room given to us, here — no one had been allowed to stand near the four paved trails which crossed the huge lawn. I blinked dumbly at the sight of hundreds of citizens and soldiers there to receive us.

Samwise, however, was looking back the enormous stretch of skyline visible from our height. "Can you imagine peeking over the edge, Mr. Frodo?" he grumbled, grimacing at the thought. "We must be higher than the mountains themselves…"

After a moment, I realized that we were making our way unhurriedly up the path to the Citadel, and on the steps before the ancient structure's large doors was a stately figure robed in dark blue. He wore a broad steel cuirass over his chest and carried a sword, but there was no crown on his head. His narrow eyes were soft and gleaming. At his side was a flaxen-haired Lady of the Mark — Éowyn, the White Lady of Rohan.

"Greetings, Faramir," Aragorn acknowledged quietly, moving to stand at the base of the stair. The hobbits and I hung behind, and Gandalf, Gimli, Legolas, Imrahil, and Éomer spread out, forming two lines at his right and left.

Faramir nodded to Aragorn and let a tiny smile creep into the corners of his thin mouth. "Welcome, my lord."

Somewhere, a trumpet blew a single note, sharp and clear, and Faramir raised his arms for the attention of his countrymen, crying, "Men of Gondor, hear now the Steward of this Realm! Behold — one has come to claim the kingship again at last. Here is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Elessar of the line of Valandil. Shall he be King and enter into this City and dwell here?"

Noise exploded around us so violently that I jumped. It was obviously an undisputed matter — the people were shouting all at once, "Yea!"

Without delay, Faramir turned to one of the men at his side and reached into a carven box held open for him. He withdrew a glimmering silver crown, decorated with delicate gold filigree and festooned with the shape of two small, pointed wings. It was given to Aragorn, but he did not place it on his head; instead, he pivoted to be opposite his people.

"By the labor and valor of many I have come to this moment," he declared. "In token of this, I would have Frodo the Ring-bearer bring the crown to me, and let Mithrandír set it upon my head. This is their victory."

Straightening proudly alongside me, Frodo went obediently to Strider, took the stunning circlet from the man's weathered hands, and gave it to Gandalf. The wizard moved to the step above Aragorn and lifted the crown high.

And, slowly, carefully, Gandalf placed it on Aragorn's head. I released a breath that I hadn't realized I'd been holding, and for some reason, my chest tightened, and I felt the burn of tears.

"Now come the days of the King," Gandalf proclaimed. "May they be blessed!"

"Behold the King!" shouted Faramir.

At that instant, horns were sounded, and the people of the City began to celebrate and sing. I was filled with inexplicable happiness, and I couldn't stop myself from grinning at my four hobbits and linking my arms through theirs, joining in on the cheering and merrymaking.

But it seemed that not all was ended yet, for amid the shouting and rejoicing of the crowd there emerged another small group, fronted by a tall, graceful Elf in opulent lavender robes. I would not have noticed them if they had not come up from behind and glided noiselessly around the four hobbits and I, approaching Aragorn with no hesitation. As they went by, I caught many familiar faces and had to cover my mouth to stop an excited noise from escaping.

"What's going on, now?" Pippin challenged in an undertone, trying to see around them to Strider and Gandalf.

"Shh, Pip," Frodo whispered earnestly. "It's Lord Elrond."

The first Elf was indeed Lord Elrond, high and handsome and wearing a silver circlet on his noble brow. He bowed to Aragorn, and the other Elves did the same. One by one they went before the King — there were the sons of Elrond, Elladan and Elrohir, and Glorfindel, whom I had known in Rivendell. Their fair features were solemn, but I noted that underneath the twins' faces there was a hint of amusement, like sunbeams behind clouds. And I understood why a second later.

The enormous assembly was parting for one last arrival — an Elf-maiden in a gown of sea green velvet, her long, flowing, midnight-black hair decorated with silver jewels, the heavy locks framing a beautiful, pale countenance. She had Lord Elrond's penetrating, stormy gray eyes.

The hobbits gasped, and Arwen Undómiel paused long enough before going to her father and Aragorn to smile pleasantly down at us. Merry and Pippin bowed, and Sam hailed falteringly, "L-lady Arwen!"

She dropped her head in momentary acknowledgment, her smile remaining, and passed us. Aragorn hurried from the steps to meet her, his dark, bearded countenance lightened by sheer happiness. Cupping her delicate jaw in his palms, he bent close and spoke to her in hushed Elvish. Elrond and his twins watched their reunion wordlessly.

"Oh," said Pippin, abashed, "I see."

Lord Elrond came forward, smiling at the pair, and he touched his daughter's willowy arm. "_Garo galu nín, Elessar_," the Elf-lord said to the King. He laid Arwen's hand in Aragorn's, pressing them together between his own. "May you both prosper, and may your reign over this kingdom be blessed."

As Strider took his queen up to kiss her, encouraged by the fervent uproar of the crowd, I glowed with warmth and blushingly turned away, not wanting to impose on such a personal event — to my surprise, I discovered that Frodo Baggins had done exactly the same thing, and he was now facing me. The moment our eyes met, he lowered his gaze hurriedly, but not before I noticed a strange spark in his blue irises.

"Frodo?" I inquired worriedly. "Is something wrong?"

Hesitant, he glanced sidelong, then looked up at me. There was something peculiar still smoldering in his gaze. "Jo — you know I — I'm not very good with these things," he said, having to talk a little louder than normal because of the clamor around us. The hobbit halted and swallowed.

I stooped to him, thinking that perhaps he believed I couldn't understand what he had said. With his lips to my ear, Frodo inhaled rapidly and continued, "I — I wondered if you might consider something like — like what Strider and Arwen — "

He broke off a second time, and I frowned over at Aragorn and Arwen, my heart beginning to beat very quickly against my breast and in my skull. I suddenly grew lightheaded. "What?" I asked, apparently unable to keep more than one word steady at a time. "That? Them?"

Frodo coughed painfully, sounding strained now. Distantly, I was aware that his arms were encircling my waist, that he was talking again. "Jo, what I mean to say — I'm trying to ask — " He wavered and buried his nose in my curls.

"Frodo?" I said, quivering.

His question came soft and muffled through my hair. "Jo — would you — marry me?"

I must have looked so unexpectedly and so enormously astonished that Samwise, who happened to spot Frodo and me at that very instant, seemed genuinely concerned. The Gamgee reached out, alarmed. "Miss Jo, are you all right?"

But I hardly heard him. The world slowed around me, and the noise of Aragorn's coronation fell away; I heard only the wild pulsing of my heartbeat and the sigh of Frodo's breathing against my cheek and neck. I was still on top of the world, at the Citadel of Minas Tirith, but I was alone with Frodo, the sun pouring liquid gold on the lawn and mingling with the flower petals floating haphazardly to earth about us. Gaping blankly ahead of me, I brought a shaking hand up to grasp a fistful of the hobbit's tunic.

"Yes, Frodo," I murmured, numb, elated, disbelieving.

He drew back, staring at me, his childish face ablaze with hope.

_He asked me — so would I marry Frodo Baggins?_

"Yes," I repeated, coming back to myself and finding sense enough to smile tremulously at him. All at once, delight surged in me, and I burst into joyful laughter, unable to hold back any longer, because Frodo loved me, and because he was now holding me, tears welling up and spilling over his eyelids. I sensed dampness under the fingertips he pressed to my face — I was crying harder than he was, but I didn't know why. He lifted me up, spun me around, and I realized vaguely that we were being watched. Merry, to the side with a worried Sam, was smirking knowingly.

And when Frodo put me down and kissed me, I heard Peregrin Took snort somewhere behind us.

"Well, it's about time, if you ask me."

* * *

Again, I'm so very sorry that this took so long. Please let me know what you think... I put this up as quickly as I could so it may be sort of rough, still. And... this isn't the end yet. :)


	41. Home

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own any of Tolkien's characters or the world he created. The only character of mine (Jorryn) has decided to take a holiday in Tolkien's Middle-earth. No copyright infringement on any of J. R. R. Tolkien's works is intended. Jorryn, Léodthain, and Dréorhyse are my pals... don't steal 'em.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** I bet you all are getting sick of my apologizing every chapter, huh? Well, here I go again, taking forever and a day to update, and for that I am sorry. To make up for it, here is a whopper of a chapter… I think it was around twenty pages in Word. A lot happens in this chapter, so it's like a story in itself. I hope it's not too rough…

If you can't remember, Frodo finally asked Jorryn to marry him. Now things are beginning to wind down…

**40**

The days that followed were golden, perfect, full of happiness — my hobbits and I were in the company of the King, and we were treated like royalty ourselves. We were given grand rooms in the Citadel, the Fellowship and I residing together along one hallway. The four hobbits were loath to be apart after their harrowing adventures, so they stayed in a suite together; I wanted to be with them, but propriety came back to everyone's minds after Mordor was destroyed. I stayed in adjacent quarters.

Whenever we rode through the City, we were offered a royal guard, though we rarely took advantage of it. We usually walked only as far as the Houses of Healing, where Faramir and Éowyn still dwelled. And of course, my four closest friends and I did the regular hobbitish things that were tradition in the Shire, like exploring, eating, storytelling, and mischief making. The rest of our time we spent with the Fellowship and Elrond's companions.

One golden day, I walked down the steps leading from the King's House and spotted a small figure standing at the very end of the wide, paved lawn, far away at the tip of the rock that protruded like a butcher's knife out of the City. I meandered around the Fountain and the White Tree, watching him, waiting for him to do something. But the figure was motionless. Coming nearer, I could eventually make out sandy-blonde curls, square, slightly stooped shoulders, and bare, hairy feet. It was Samwise.

The afternoon was still and warm. The faintest hint of a breeze played with a few strands of my hair as I went to stand beside the Gamgee, and I leaned forward to rest my elbows on the wide stone barrier separating us from the gargantuan drop to the Pelennor. Below us, the green land stretched out for miles before meeting the marching black shapes of the Mountains of Mordor.

"It's amazing, isn't it, Sam?" I said.

He glanced to me, his dark eyes narrow, then returned his attention to the shadows of the clouds floating gradually across the Fields. "It makes me feel awfully small, Miss Jo," he answered at last.

"Yes," I murmured, cupping my chin in my hands. "Dunharrow was the same — where I stayed in Rohan. There was a field there, on a mountainside, that seemed to me the highest point in the world."

"You could lose your senses just thinking about it," Sam went on, nodding to the horizon. "Mordor is just over those mountains. It would have been a heartening thought, to know that our friends were so near in this City, when Mr. Frodo and I were in there ourselves. Those were dark days."

I glowered at the distant, craggy peaks, then felt a pang of sorrow for the hobbit. "I'm sorry, Sam," I said, unable to offer him anything else.

He accepted my useless apology with a faint nod, but lightened noticeably a second later and changed the subject. "My opinion doesn't matter much, Miss Jo, but I much prefer the gardens in the Houses of Healing to this big courtyard. There's just too much white stone here, if you follow me. I think Gandalf went down to see Lord Faramir after lunch — I thought I'd visit them, and you're welcome to come along."

Of course I agreed to follow him down to the Houses of Healing, where we found Pippin, Merry, Frodo, Faramir, Éowyn, and Gandalf all sitting together in the gardens along the wall. They were not speaking, merely enjoying each other's company. Gandalf puffed on his pipe, Éowyn and Faramir rested comfortably on one of the stone benches, arms linked, and Merry and Pip lounged at their feet. Frodo had placed himself on the grass beside Gandalf, and when Sam and I approached, the Baggins smiled at me. The moment I had greeted the others, he reached for my hand and pulled me down next to him. The air in the garden was filled with the scents of growing things and the sound of water bubbling in a nearby fountain.

I cuddled up to Frodo, leaning my head on his shoulder and slipping my hand underneath his. "Hello," the hobbit murmured into my curls. "We were just talking about what we want to do in the next few weeks."

"It seems your Halflings have gotten restless, Jorryn," Gandalf interrupted to inform me. "They are all eager to return home."

It wasn't the first talk I had heard of going back to the Shire, so I wasn't surprised. "When do you want to leave?" I asked reflexively, knowing that my own thoughts had turned toward home in the past few days.

Faramir gave a short laugh and bent to us. "Should I be insulted to find that you are so willing to leave Minas Tirith, Milady?"

"I beg your pardon, Lord Faramir, but it has been a very long time since I last slept in my own bed," Pippin pointed out.

"Yes, and some of us, unlike Frodo, still have wives we need to catch," Merry added with a wicked grin. He looked pointedly to Samwise, remembering Rosie, no doubt. "We can't very well do that here."

I covered my blushing cheeks and threw an unladylike kick in Meriadoc's direction, and Sam ducked his head embarrassedly. Frodo, however, only squeezed my fingers between his while everyone chuckled at our unseemly behavior.

Once our laughter had subsided, the Baggins announced, "I've already spoken with Aragorn about it, in fact. Lord Éomer will be returning in a few days to take King Théoden's funeral procession back to Rohan, and we are to go with him."

I sat up and cried, "A few days — that soon?"

Éowyn smiled radiantly and brushed her golden locks away from her face. "Are you already having second thoughts, Jorryn?"

"No," I said feebly. "I know we've been in the City for — what, two months? But I just realized how much I have left to do."

I dragged my hobbits through my chores for the rest of the week, insisting that they get their things packed and then making them go on a last couple of walks around Aragorn's Citadel, since I presumed that I would not set foot in Gondor again, and I wanted always to remember the beauty of my friends' kingdom.

Most important of my tasks was the retrieval of my friend Denuwyn's Elvish name, which I had promised her a long time ago. On the morning we were to depart, I went to Elrond, Elrohir, Elladan, and Arwen in the King's House and told them about the little girl.

Lord Elrond listened closely and smiled at her description. "Denuwyn, one who was a comfort to you in dark times," he mused. "I would call her _Merilnan_."

I beamed and thanked him. "She'll love it, my lord."

There was another matter I failed to resolve, but before I had the chance to speak with Gandalf, it was time to go. Pippin found me standing in the Place of the Fountain looking out over the Pelennor and to the distant mountains, and he took me down to the stables where I found Bronwe and the rest of my friends. The company from Rivendell was there, and Prince Imrahil and Faramir, and Éomer and Éowyn, and Léodthain with a guard of the Mark's fairest knights, and Aragorn and Arwen with their escort. Most of the Fellowship was to one side. Sam and Frodo had been given ponies, and Legolas and Gimli, like usual, rode together on one horse. I noticed that among the men from Rohan was a large wagon adorned with gold and green cloth, upon which rode Merry at the head. This was King Théoden's funeral bier, and the Brandybuck was still his esquire.

The moment I mounted my little horse, Léodthain approached me with a long blade in a smooth leather scabbard. I recognized the intricate horse pattern on the hilt and raised an eyebrow at the man questioningly.

"Lady Éowyn wishes you to carry her sword," the captain said simply, handing the weapon up to me.

It was a silent procession that rode through the levels of the White City. As ever, I was sad to leave a place that had become so familiar. With the setting sun stretching our shadows long across the Pelennor, Éomer led us slowly away from Minas Tirith. Fifteen days later, we had journeyed through Gondor's gray hills and thick woods and come to the lush green plains of Rohan. By midday I saw Edoras rising from the rolling grasslands on the horizon, the city small and solitary under the watch of the cold, jagged shapes of the mountains.

That evening, Merry and I sat with Éomer before the majestic doors of Meduseld, drinking with him and sharing tales as his uncle had once promised we would. Éowyn stood nearby, silent and still, hands clasped at her waist, the wind tugging at her hair. The others were inside the Golden Hall, making preparations for Théoden's funeral and resting after our long ride.

I was laughing at Éomer's stories of childhood mischief when a small voice called up to me from the bottom of the steps marching down at our feet. It was Denuwyn, waving to me shyly.

"Who is that?" asked Éomer, peering at the girl over his cup.

"Denuwyn," I said, beckoning to her and answering the man simultaneously. "I met her when I was in Dunharrow."

The girl scurried up the stairs and did not hesitate to plop herself down on my lap. "Lady Jorryn," she exclaimed, "I knew you would come back!"

"Hello, little one," I said. I hugged her and patted down her unruly tangles. "What have you been up to since we left you?"

"I have been helping my family," she declared with a prim nod. "We cleaned our house yesterday."

"That's very nice," I said, smiling past her to Éomer and Merry, who were both gently amused. Beyond them, I perceived that Lord Elrond and Elrohir had come to the doorway to watch us. The girl, with her back to them, did not notice. "Denuwyn, did you see us ride into Edoras?"

"No," she replied, "I was inside when you arrived."

"Well, then, you don't know who I've brought with me," I said, taking her small hands in mine. "I have some friends who would like to meet you."

I turned her about on my knee, and Lord Elrond emerged from the Golden Hall, his arms crossed behind his back. The child in my arms appeared confused for a second, but then her angelic features slackened, and she gawped up at the beautiful beings that came to bow to her.

"Hello, _Merilnan_," said Elrohir. "We have heard all about you."

Denuwyn could not answer them, not catching the fact that they had greeted her by an Elvish name. I had never seen the girl act bashful, but as the Elves' eyes sparkled centimeters from her nose, she clung to me and buried her face in my neck.

I snorted at her behavior and said, "Did you hear him, Denuwyn? Did you hear what he called you?"

"Is it — is it Elvish?" she muttered from her hiding place. "_Mer-lan_?"

"Yes, little one, it is of our tongue," Lord Elrond answered, straightening. "It means _flower of the valley_."

"It is an honor to finally meet you, Merilnan," Elrohir pronounced slowly.

Denuwyn peeked out from under my chin, scrutinizing the son of Elrond. At last, she answered timidly, "Thank you, my lord. I am honored, too."

I kissed her and sent her toddling down the steps with the soft laughter of Elves in my ears.

That evening, we buried Théoden in the barrows outside the city walls. I stood by Éowyn, and Merry waited tearfully at the foot of the king's grave. The Riders of Rohan surrounded us on their white horses, singing of Théoden and his fathers in their deep, ancient language, so that even those who could not understand were moved to tears. Frodo and Sam were at my elbow beside the flowering mound, and once the Riders had finished their song the Baggins moved toward me and asked, "Did you love him?"

"He was my king," I answered simply. "Yes, I loved him."

Soon afterward, we gathered in the Golden Hall for a banquet in honor of the new King Éomer. The grieving was finished and the atmosphere was bright. Éomer announced the engagement of Éowyn and Faramir, which brought a true alliance between Gondor and Rohan, and the Rohirrim rejoiced. We drank to the end of dark days and feasted merrily, and I danced with each of my friends. The celebration didn't end for several hours — it was late before the hobbits and I meandered off to bed.

The time for more farewells came as quickly as the following morning. Suddenly, our company was robbed of Faramir, Arwen, Imrahil, and all the people of the Mark. I had always despised goodbyes, and it was obvious as I waited tearfully on the stone terrace of the Golden Hall with my company. Gandalf had gone to the side with Éomer and Faramir, conversing them with his snowy head bent low, and Elrond, Elrohir, Elladan, and Arwen had left before dawn for a private ride in the foothills. The wind was ripping at the colorful banners hung above us at the corners of the wide terrace — I stared at them blankly, my arms crossed and my hair flying haphazardly into my vision.

"What are you thinking of, Jo?"

Pippin was looking at me sideways, his words dropping down into the soft, childish tone I knew so well. I linked my arm through his and sighed. "I guess… I just can't get over the fact that this could be the last time I see all this."

"That's always the hard part, isn't it?" he teased, hugging my arm. "But I am anxious to see _The Green Dragon_ again, as I've said. I haven't had my favorite ale for such a long time."

"You're ready to be back at _The_ _Dragon_, but not your home, or anything else?" I returned playfully.

"Of course — _The_ _Dragon _always comes first!"

We were punching each other like bickering children when Éowyn came up with a bundle of cloth in her arms. "Pardon me, my lord," she said good-humoredly, her eyes dancing, "but I have something to give to the Lady."

She began to unfold her bundle, and I saw that the cloth was a rich dark red velvet. "Oh, my lady, please," I began, waving my hand for her to stop. "I don't deserve anything more than what you have already given me."

"I beg you to receive two small things," she said firmly, continuing. She opened the bundle to reveal a small circlet of twisted gold underneath its folds, then shook out the cloth itself, and I realized it was a heavy cloak, decorated with green and gold border on the edges and down a middle seam. Placing the miniature crown over my curls, she smiled. "These were mine, but I fear I have outgrown them."

I dipped into a curtsey, taking the cape from her and throwing it over my shoulders, and I said, "I can't thank you enough, my lady. It was an honor to serve you and the Mark while I could."

"I will not forget you, Jorryn," Éowyn said softly.

Elrond and his children returned, sad and solemn, and I hurried to say goodbye to the rest of those we were leaving behind. Faramir and Éomer were together at one end of the terrace, gazing into the distance, and I walked up to them slowly, observing both of their noble profiles against the blue sky. They turned to me.

"Time to leave already, Milady?" Faramir asked with a curl of his lips. "I regret that our parting has come so soon."

"I know, sire," I replied. "I'm not sure if I can take much more of this."

"In that case, I should make my farewell brief," he said, bowing. "I hope to see you in the South again one day. Know that you are forever welcome in Ithilien."

Éomer bowed as well, promising, "We shall see to it that you receive a proper place in the histories of Gondor and Rohan, Milady. Perhaps our paths will cross once more in the future."

"Thank you, my lord. You and Rohan have my loyalty and my heart."

Without another word, I turned and marched down the steps to where our horses were gathered. Arwen was on the last stair, wrapped in a mantle so deep in color that her midnight-black hair blended perfectly into the material. She was frozen, lost in thought, pain in her beautiful countenance.

I paused next to her and cleared my throat tentatively. "My lady?"

The Elf-maiden blinked and focused on me. I almost expected her to burst into tears, but her mouth abruptly tipped, and color came into her white cheeks. "You have always been a comfort to me, Mistadiel," she said unexpectedly.

Curious and confused, I repeated, "My lady?"

"We are alike, you and I," she explained. "It was a long road that brought you to this day, Mistadiel — certainly much longer than mine. You left behind an entire world and the people you once knew so that you might stay in this Time. I now find myself in a similar position."

I knew what she meant, for she was watching her father and her brothers mount their horses. It would be the last time she would see them — she had chosen a mortal fate, and would remain in Middle-earth to live the rest of her days with Aragorn, while her kinsmen left for Valinor across the Sea. I could not imagine her suffering.

Before I could muster a clumsy answer, the Elf stooped and kissed my brow. "You have been a dear friend, and you will be in my thoughts. _No mae_, Mistadiel."

My goodbyes to everyone else done, I found Denuwyn, hugged her tightly and let her cry a little, wished her well, and finally went to Bronwe and climbed into my saddle. We left Edoras standing proud and golden on its hilltop, Éomer and Éowyn waving to us from Meduseld, and I did not return to Rohan again except in my dreams.

* * *

A twelve-day ride brought us to the Gap of Rohan and Isengard, where the Ents had been busy destroying the filth of Saruman and making Orthanc ready for Aragorn's coming. I had never seen the great tower, so I didn't know what it had looked like prior to the war. It was an enormous pillar of glimmering black stone, rising tall out of a pool of clear water, surrounded by trees and other flourishing greenery.

"They've done a good job with the place," remarked Merry. "I hardly recognize it anymore."

The hobbits dragged me off to meet Treebeard, the eldest and most revered of all the Ents, and I would always remember the experience as somewhat frightening. Treebeard was a huge, straight, knotted figure, whose movements were rigid and rickety. His face was nearly indistinguishable within his mossy beard, and his large, mysterious, blinking eyes were set deep within his rough, bark-like skin. When he moved to look at me, I felt exposed under his green-yellow gaze, and the old Ent did not speak for some time.

"_Hoom-hom_," he said at last, and his voice was like wind through braches — thick and breathy but very deep. "Well, I suppose I shall be the last to welcome you to Middle-earth, _wanwa selde_, little Man-daughter. The hobbits told me of you."

"Thank you, my — lord," I stammered, not sure how to respond. "I've heard of you from many, as well. You are respected in many lands."

"What little we have done here merits no respect, _heri-o-hande_," he said with a creaky bow. "We have learned of the happenings in the south and east, and it seems you all have been busy, too, _hoom_."

"Is Saruman still here, Treebeard?" asked Merry, leaning back underneath the Ent's bent form.

"No, he is gone seven days," answered Treebeard. "I let him go. There was little left of him when he crawled out."

"Oh, dear," Pippin muttered. "Have you told Gandalf about that?"

"Yes, Gandalf knows. I told him I would keep him safe, but things have changed since then. A snake without fangs may crawl where he will."

_Yes, right back to the Shire_, I thought despondently, ducking my head so my friends would not see my expression. I knew what was waiting for us at home. I turned around to look through the trees, back to where Legolas, Gimli, Aragorn, and Gandalf waited on the path. This was the matter I had not managed to resolve before departing Minas Tirith, and having been reminded of it made it seem more pressing than ever. I excused myself and headed for the path. This subject had been on my mind for the past several weeks, and since then I had been contemplating telling Gandalf or the hobbits of the trouble that had been taking place in the Shire while we were away. I had alluded to it long ago at the Council of Elrond, yet now the time was nearing for us to actually face the evils of Saruman at home, and I had no idea what to do.

"Gandalf," I called around a shrub, nearing him, "could I please speak to you?"

The wizard narrowed his eyes curiously, but he obligingly straightened from where he had been resting against Shadowfax's great white neck and walked to me, his hands behind his back. "What is it, Jorryn?" he wondered, gruff.

Pulling my new Rohirric cloak nervously around me, I retreated back into the brush a little. We ambled together over the grass, and I snapped off a dead branch from an adjacent trunk to fiddle with it between my fingers. "I've been… a little worried about something," I began elusively, grimacing at the wizard.

"Why should worry plague you now? The Ring is destroyed, and you are going home safely with your hobbits." He said it nonchalantly, but there was something shrewd behind his cheering reply.

I glanced upward in confusion, going on hesitantly, "But… haven't you guessed that my knowledge goes beyond the destruction of the Ring?"

"Indeed, I would guess that it goes on until the very day you were taken from your Time," he nodded, almost lightheartedly.

"You don't understand," I said, baffled by his ambiguity. "I know about things that will happen very soon, like in the Shire, where — "

Finally, he held up a weathered hand to stop me and smiled gently. "Jorryn, do you think I know nothing of the evils Saruman still has working in this world? I am aware that Treebeard released him, and I know where he is going now."

I sagged, kicking at a protruding root. "Is there anything to be done?"

He chuckled and dropped his arm across my shoulder comfortingly. "I think you all are capable of taking care of yourselves, Jorryn. You have grown up now. You are among the great, and I have no longer any fear for any of you."

An hour later, the time had finally come for the Fellowship to separate, after being together so long. Legolas and Gimli were to travel into Fangorn Forest and explore its mysteries. Aragorn was returning to his new wife and his kingdom in the south. The rest of us were going on to Rivendell, then our home in the Shire — at long last.

Treebeard bowed to each of us, and I clasped hands with Legolas and got enveloped in a grizzly embrace by Gimli. My heart quickly tightened, and the pain of such conclusive partings rushed over me.

"Those Halflings of yours had better keep good care of you, Milady," Gimli growled, and he patted me roughly on the back.

"Farewell, Mistadiel," Legolas bade. He dipped his fair head low, and for the last time I felt the brush of his fine hair on my brow.

Tears were leaking down my face before I made it to Aragorn. The man knelt to me, hugged me to his broad chest, and peered at me intently. He sighed. "All things must pass, Jorryn," he said quietly, "even a Fellowship of friends like ours. I will not forget our adventures. Go well."

I sniffed and pursed my lips, answering as steadily as I could, "Farewell, Strider — and thank you for everything."

The moment I stepped away, Aragorn rose, turning toward the members of Elrond's company waiting beside their horses. Knowing that I would not be with Strider, Legolas, or Gimli ever again, I began to genuinely cry, and small, agonizing sobs shuddered through me. I dug my chin into my chest and hurried behind Bronwe, trying to hide. I nearly collided with Frodo.

The hobbit said nothing; he merely reached forward with his good hand and wiped away my sticky tears, then drew me in for a brief kiss.

The remainder of our journey was one that I had already taken and still remembered well, since our road was the same that had brought me from Rivendell, through the wild grasslands of Dunland (where none of the Dunlendings troubled us now) and Hollin. The remaining Elves in our company wove ancient tales for us in the evenings around the fires, recounting great deeds and narrating old memories. I, myself, was able to tell the hobbits of how I had stood on the banks of the river Sirannon, under the shadow of Celebdil, and looked down the way that the Fellowship had gone into Moria months since. It was odd to retrace my steps and think of how different things were from how they had been.

We came to Rivendell in the dusk, with the whispering of the river in our ears and the fading light pulling our shadows to unnatural lengths. Elrohir and Elladan raced each other over the bridge and into the courtyard of the Elven house, and the rest of us smiled at their childlike happiness. The only one who did not seem entertained was Elrond, whose face was shrouded in gloom as he rode ahead of me.

I spurred Bronwe a little to catch the Elf-lord. Swallowing, I tilted toward him in my saddle and murmured, knowing that he was thinking of his daughter, "She will be well in Gondor, Lord Elrond."

"Yes, Mistadiel," Elrond said mutedly, not looking to me, "I know."

The hobbits and I went directly to our old rooms in our private hallway without asking or having to be told, and after depositing our bags, we went in search of Bilbo. We found the old Baggins asleep in front of the fireplace in his room. I was not surprised to see that half of the papers I had spent organizing the last time I had been there were exactly as I had left them, neatly piled around his desk, and the notebook that I had used to write his notes was still sitting on a tabletop with a quill between its pages.

"You two didn't get much writing done, did you?" Frodo asked, gesturing to the mess.

Bilbo, in his chair, opened one eye and spoke up, "And what would you know about that, my dear nephew? I've gotten several pieces of parchment filled since you've all been gone. What time is it?"

We laughed and hugged him. "It's evening, Bilbo," Frodo answered. "We've just returned."

"You're looking very fit, sir," remarked Samwise supportively.

"For my age, don't you mean, Samwise?" Bilbo countered, and a touch of mischievousness came into his creaky old voice. "I fear I cannot say the same for you all."

The hobbits and I remembered our ceremonial clothing and our windswept, reddened faces. Smirking, Merry shook his head.

"Would you like us to go wash up?" Pippin asked.

"No, but I would like some tea and cakes," Bilbo said, "if it isn't too late for that."

Pippin and Frodo obediently went off to fetch some tea. Merry and Sam pulled up two more seats by the hearth, and I knelt to the elderly Baggins, folding my hands upon his lean knuckle. Bilbo was frailer and more pallid than I remembered him, but his gaze was still bright. I beamed up at him and wondered, "How are you, Bilbo?"

"My dear, I shall be one hundred and twenty-nine years old in a matter of hours," he stated. "In another year, I might beat the Old Took's record. I feel as well as anyone may in my situation, I suppose."

The next day, we celebrated the Bagginses' birthdays by telling Bilbo all that had gone on during our absence, and later, Frodo and I even managed to slip into the gardens alone for an hour. It was good to simply walk with him, the golden afternoon glow of Rivendell around us and the rushing and bubbling of Bruinen in the cool air.

When we returned to the main banquet hall in Elrond's house for an early supper, Bilbo, sitting next to Gandalf, lifted an eyebrow at us and said craftily, "Ah — I see that more has happened than anyone has cared to tell me about."

Gandalf only lowered his head and chuckled, hiding behind a sheer curtain of pipe-weed smoke.

We stayed in Imladris a fortnight, and though life was beautiful and restful with the Elves, Frodo began to grow more anxious for home. One night in Bilbo's quarters, he pointed out that the weather would soon change, and we still had a long way to go.

"I think Mr. Frodo is right," Sam agreed. "And I'm worried about my Gaffer, to tell the truth."

The night before we were to leave, Bilbo gathered us together in his room to say goodbye. He made a presentation of his old mithril coat and Sting to Frodo, forgetting that he had already given them to him, and he asked me to take all his papers and notes and put them in order for Frodo, so that we may finish his writing. To Sam he gave the last of the gold he had won on his first adventure with the Dwarves, and to Merry and Pippin he furnished two Elven-made pipes wrought with silver and pearl.

I expected nothing, so I was surprised when Bilbo motioned me to come forward. "I cannot be at your wedding, my dear Lady," he said, and I blushed furiously as Pippin and Merry snickered impishly behind us, "and so I shall give you an early gift."

The hobbit held out a small cap of silvery lace adorned with sparkling gems. "I had it made for you after you went away," he explained. "You don't have to wear it, but I imagine it will be nice to have for special occasions."

_Like weddings_, I finished for him inwardly, my heart now glowing with as much warmth as my cheeks. "Thank you, Bilbo, it's beautiful," I said, accepting the jeweled cap and stooping to kiss the hobbit's wrinkled forehead.

"Well," sighed the Baggins, placing his withered hands on his knees, "if you must go, you must, but I will miss you all. Frodo, if you and Jo would be so kind as to tidy up around here, I would appreciate it."

Frodo nodded and said, "We can come visit you in a while, if you'd like. The roads aren't dangerous any more."

"I think, my dear nephew, that you won't need to come back, unless you come very soon," Bilbo said vaguely, settling back into his chair. He yawned, and the wizened hobbit promptly closed his eyes and went to sleep.

Elrond and Gandalf saw us off the next morning, but for once, parting with friends was not a sad occasion. They assured us we would almost certainly meet again in the near future, and I knew it was true, especially after Elrond took Frodo aside and conversed with him privately for several minutes. I was not ready to think about what the Elf was telling him. _I must take it one day at a time_, I told myself.

We set off from Imladris, just the hobbits and me, and I was stricken with a strange sense of nostalgia, trotting along silently with them — wasn't this how it had all started? We had come such a long way from the beginning of our adventures, and now we had left everyone else behind again.

We rode briskly and with little conversation, leaving the Elven valley behind us and coming out onto the rolling green hills at the feet of the Misty Mountains. It was autumn, just as it had been the last time I had come this way, and the breeze was crisp through the fiery yellow and red leaves of the surrounding trees.

Sam commented on the weather and Pippin tossed a few broken twigs, which he retrieved while passing under low-hanging branches, at the back of Merry's head. Frodo and I said nothing, content to enjoy the company of our friends, but before long, it became apparent to me that something was genuinely troubling the Baggins. Certainly, he was normally quiet and reflective, always deep in thought about many things, but now, I caught him holding his maimed hand close to him, and his silence became heavy and brooding.

"Are you all right?" I asked him quietly.

He lifted his stare briefly and gave me a weak smile. "Well, no, I'm not," he replied bluntly. "It's — my shoulder. It has been a year today since Weathertop, and the wound aches."

So, the Morgul-wound was at fault… that was why his features were drawn in pain, why he sat so unevenly in his saddle. I frowned at the hobbit and searched my mind for words of encouragement, but I could offer him nothing to help him forget that black day, other than a whispered, "It will pass, Frodo."

Frodo was better the following day, and we were able to complete our westward trek in good spirits. We stayed on the Great East Road, which took us directly past the landmarks we remembered well — the Last Bridge over the River Hoarwell, and Weathertop (we rode hurriedly by the bleak hill), and the Midgewater Marshes.

"Thank heavens we can take the Road this time around," Sam remarked, most likely thinking of our miserable struggle through the bleak marshland.

The weather worsened the nearer we came to the Shire, and it was raining heavily the night we came to Bree and Barliman Butterbur's _Prancing Pony_. The village was the same, dark and cramped and muddy, yet the atmosphere on the cobbled streets had gone, bizarrely, from bustling and alive to vacant and unnerving. No one was out to meet us on the sodden cobbled streets, and all the houses were dim and noiseless.

Butterbur's inn was easy to find, and we entered the common room just inside the doorway, only to find it mostly empty. A single hobbit was serving the few guests there, and when he turned to investigate the new arrivals, recognition struck us all like lightning.

"Nob!" cried Frodo to his disheveled kinsman. "How good to see you again!"

The squat hobbit nearly dropped his tray of dirty dishes, his amazement palpable. "You've come back," he said, dumbfounded.

"Of course we have," said Merry, and he shook his curls so furiously that the rest of us were sprayed with droplets of rainwater. "Now, we are wet and hungry, and we'd like a room. Can that be managed?"

An instant after, Barliman Butterbur entered, wiping his hands on his soiled apron, and he glowered at his little servant. "Nob," he said, "what do you think you — "

It was then that he finally caught sight of us standing in his doorway dripping over the floor. The man's mood changed quite swiftly, his kind, weathered features resuming their expression of perpetual wide-eyed surprise that I had guessed was part of his customary appearance. He said, "Well, well, hello, young masters! I never expected to see any of you again. Come in, come in — will you be wanting the same rooms as before? They're open. But most of my rooms are empty these days — you could have the whole wing, if you so pleased."

He led us to the familiar parlor, going on, "I'll see what can be done about supper. I'm a little short-handed at present. Is there anything I can get you in the meantime?"

"I could do with a bit of pipe-weed, if you've got any," Sam said.

"I would get you some, young sir, believe me — but there's none to be had from the Shire nowadays."

"No pipe-weed?" the Gamgee blanched. "What has been going on around here?"

Pippin asked, "Why is business so bad for you, Mr. Butterbur?"

"No one comes to Bree now from outside," the man mused sadly, opening the door to our rooms and ushering us inside. "And we in the villages stay at home and keep our doors barred. A bunch of wanderers came up the Greenway last year, after you left, and they caused a world of mischief. There were some folk killed, if you believe me."

"How many?" exclaimed Frodo.

"Five," said Butterbur. "Two of the Little Folk, and three Men. The bad ones hide in the woods, beyond Archet. It isn't safe on the road, and nobody goes far."

The hobbits looked at me meaningfully, clearly expecting me to explain. I said nothing, however, and Merry commented, "Well, no one gave us any trouble on the way here, and we came along slowly enough."

"To be honest, sir, it's no wonder they left you alone," the man said, nodding to us, a look of incredulity settling upon him. "They wouldn't go after armed travelers, with swords and shields and all. And I must say it put me aback a bit when I saw you."

The hobbits were stunned for a moment, and they involuntarily peered down at themselves and at me. Merry and I were wearing our Rohirric gear, Pippin had his Citadel uniform on, and Sam and Frodo were clad in Elvish robes. We each had a sword, and Pip and Merry still wore their chain mail tunics. Frodo laughed.

"Well, if they are afraid of just five of us, then we have met worse enemies on our travels," the Baggins quipped. "But I thought we'd left all trouble behind us."

"Ah, I'm afriad you haven't, Mr. Baggins," said Butterbur sadly.

In the morning, we were begged to visit the suddenly crowded common room and give the villagers some news of the world. We obliged but came dressed in ordinary, Hobbitish clothes, to avoid the certain gaping stares that we would receive otherwise. In the large room, hobbits and humans filled the tables and stood along the walls as we spoke, listening raptly. We told them there that the Rangers would soon return, and that better times were coming, and that there was a king back on Gondor's throne. Butterbur was amazed to hear that this king was Aragorn, who had skulked about in the shadows of his inn and enjoyed his beer.

The talk was pleasant and long, and Merry, Pippin, and Sam were plainly enjoying the ale, but Frodo reminded us that we were only a day away from the Shire. It seemed a waste to linger so close to home, he said. So, late in the morning, we excused ourselves from the gathering and changed back into our riding garments, and we bade farewell to Barliman with the baffled group in the common room watching on.

"Thank you for everything you've done," Frodo said, shaking his hand.

"I wish you well, sir," the man said. "It is dangerous on the outside, but if I say so myself, I think you've all come back from your travels looking like folk that can deal with trouble. Good luck to you!"

The last part of our journey we made in haste, eager to reach the Shire and spurred on by the unnerving accounts we had heard in Bree. It continued to drizzle intermittently. Taking the long way around the Old Forest, we stayed on the Road, skirting the woods and the Barrow-downs. When we came to Brandywine Bridge in the dark and rain, we were most unhappy to discover the way closed to us. There was a gate built across the Bridge, and several dark, tall buildings stood in shadow on the other side of the river.

"Why is the bridge barred?" called Pippin without delay. "We'd like to cross, please!"

A lantern flared in the darkness and an irritated shout came back to us. "You can't come in! Can't you read the notice? 'No admittance between sundown and sunrise'!"

"Well, we can't very well read it in the _dark_, can we?" I grumbled, and I pushed my sodden hood off my head crossly. I hadn't remembered that these disturbances would start so far from home — I had sped through the last pages of _Return of the King_ in the late hours of a summer night, and my knowledge of this period had grown fuzzy. In any case, I was in no mood to deal with it yet.

Swinging unsteadily, the lantern came closer, eventually illuminating the face of its owner. Merry spotted him and said triumphantly, "Hob Hayward. You know me — I am Meriadoc Brandybuck. Let us pass."

The hobbit stared, astounded, between the wooden planks of the gate. "Bless me!" he said. "It's Master Merry, and the rest of you! You're supposed to be dead."

"Sorry to disappoint you," Frodo said dryly, sitting coolly atop his pony. He seemed amused, despite the bleakness of our situation.

"Stop staring at us, and open the gate," Merry ordered.

"I'm sorry, Master Merry, but we are not to let anyone pass," the hobbit explained. "It's orders."

"Orders?" Samwise echoed disdainfully. "There's someone giving orders, now?"

"Yes, sir — the Chief is up at Bag End."

We looked at each other through the gloom, and Frodo sat up a fraction. We said nothing, but Merry suddenly jumped from his saddle and drew his sword. "Come help me, Pip," he said, and they rushed the gate together. The hobbit with the lantern backed up in alarm, even with the gate still between them. Merry caught at Hob Hayward's sleeve and kept him from escaping.

"It isn't allowed," the hobbit said vaguely, watching the pair's glinting weapons.

"You will open this gate, Hob," Merry said, stern and sharp.

At last the hobbit relented, and we were let through into Buckland. Frodo glowered at the unnatural, two-storied structures that met us on the other side of the river. "We can't go any farther tonight," the Baggins said grudgingly to Hob. "You'll have to let us sleep here."

"It isn't allowed," Hob repeated. It seemed to be the only thing of which he was certain. "We can't take you in and let you eat our extra food."

"We've got food," Pippin said. "Just give us a place to lie down a bit."

He took us into the first dingy house, and we saw the other hobbit guards waiting just inside. Apparently, they had sent Hob outside to deal with us, and they had not expected anyone to return. My hobbits and I found a fireplace in one dreary wall and settled around it, under the wary watch of the powerless guards, and Pippin scooted close to me.

"Well, Jo, are you ready to tell us what is the matter here, or are you going to force us to ask this bunch?" the Took demanded.

I bit my lower lip and began carefully, "You don't need to be too worried — we aren't in any real danger. But the Shire has been invaded. After we left, and Lotho Sackville-Baggins moved into Bag End, he somehow made contact with Saruman."

"That wicked fool!" Merry burst. "I knew he was always up to no good."

"Well, I guess he started it all, but most of what we'll soon see is Saruman's doing. It is his Men that hide in the woods and make the roads unsafe, the ones Butterbur talked about. They're supposed to keep everything in order. They've been taking the Shire's pipe-weed and most of the food. Saruman has been having those goods shipped from here to Orthanc for his own use since we left."

"Well, that explains the stuff we found in Isengard's storerooms!" Pippin realized. "It seemed too much like home."

"So, Saruman is their 'Chief' up at Bag End?" Frodo pressed.

I grimaced, digging through the memories that I had shelved at the back of my brain for months. "I don't think it started that way — he was acting through Lotho first, wasn't he? Anyhow, I don't think anyone in the Shire really knows who the Chief actually is now. Everyone is just too afraid to ask questions or stand up against him."

"Begging your pardon, Miss Jo," Sam interrupted, "but why should Saruman matter now? Why is everyone here still going along with any of this? His power was broken, I thought, and the War has been done with for quite a while."

"It's his last attempt to cause devastation to Middle-earth," I said. "He had nowhere else to look, nowhere else that was as unready for an attack as the Shire, after he destroyed the lands within his immediate reach."

The hobbits pondered this darkly for a moment, and I instantly regretted using the words "devastation," "attack," and "destroyed." Frodo breathed deeply and folded his arms.

"Perhaps we should get some sleep. I think we have a busy day ahead of us."

* * *

Less than forty miles from Bag End, we awoke early and set off from the Brandywine Bridge guardhouse with the first light of the day coloring the sky at our backs. It was cold, and we had all bundled up in cloaks and hoods against the chill. High and far away over the trees beside the path, smoke climbed into the sky, and we urged our ponies into a steady canter. The ride across the Eastfarthing was uneventful. We had come at a brisk pace and met no danger on the road, so we enjoyed the ride into the Shire and spoke frequently. The wind had stopped blowing, and it grew a little warmer, but we kept ourselves covered in our capes. We rested only once.

Our lighthearted, cheery jaunt through the Shire quickly became a bad dream as we neared Bag End. Up until then, the countryside had been silent but relatively unchanged, the vacant hills and woods echoing emptily around us, but the village of Bywater was more than that. Hobbit-holes along the path had been deserted with their windows broken and their lush gardens overtaken with weeds, and there was a new cluster of horrid narrow buildings built right beside the old _Green Dragon_ tavern, which had been boarded up and abandoned. Bywater Pool was murky. My companions paled and looked to me; nothing I said had prepared them for this.

"I've got to find my Gaffer, Mr. Frodo," Sam said worriedly.

"Let's get to Bag End first, Sam, and deal with this 'Chief,'" said Frodo softly.

As we passed _The Green Dragon_, six Men suddenly emerged from the shadows with clubs in their hands, cutting us off from the path. They were grimy and yellow-faced, all with long, tangled hair and narrow eyes.

"Where do you think you're off to?" the largest of them hooted, the words lilting drunkenly. "You can't come up this way — Sharkey don't want Little Folk in his area."

"_Sharkey_ now, is it?" Pippin said contemptuously. "What business does he have in the Shire?"

"That's none o' your concern," the man replied.

"But it is," Pippin said. "We have never seen ruffians and thieves in this country, but we know how to deal with them, and we shall unless they leave us alone."

"So that's your tone, little fool?" the man shot back. "I would watch out. You all are getting too uppity, and I've told Sharkey that myself. Don't you trust too much to the Boss's kind heart — keep it up, and you'll find yourself in the Lockholes!"

Merry stared at them coolly and said, "I still don't see why the Shire should concern your Boss."

"This country has been lying useless and fallow for too long, and Sharkey's going to set it to rights," the man drawled. "You little rat-folk need a bigger boss around here. Then you'll learn a thing or two."

Their behavior was infuriatingly mocking and condescending, and I felt my hands tighten on my reins. My mouth was open before I could think. "Rat-folk?" I cried heatedly. "Do you have any idea who you're speaking to?"

Noticing me for the first time, the Men squinted at me, then burst into raucous laughter. Their leader poked one of his friends in his side and said, "Look here, Scrubb, it's one of ours! Sharkey will be glad to hear of this!" The large brute stepped toward me and lifted a heavy hand, snatching for my wrist. "He'll teach you to think better of your own folk, Miss!"

"You will not touch me," I snapped, jerking away, "and your master will teach me nothing. I know where I wish to be counted."

Protectively, Frodo moved his pony closer to me. "_Sharkey_ no longer has any power over the Shire. Don't you know that Isengard has been destroyed, and your Boss with it?" he demanded. "There is a King now in Gondor, and these are his lands, not yours. Move aside."

The man's hand fell away from me, but he leered toothily at Frodo. "Ah, big words! The little rat thinks he knows what he's talking about. We'll put you both out of mischief!"

In a flash of silver and black, Pippin jerked his mount forward and drew his sword, letting his chain mail and the White Tree on his chest glimmer in the weak sunlight under his mantle. "I am a messenger of the King," the Took said evenly. "You have just insulted two of the King's dearest friends."

The Men stumbled backward in surprise, and Pippin watched them grimly. Merry and Sam shook back their cloaks, displaying their fair raiment and the hilts of their swords.

"Go," Merry commanded, nodding down the road.

Without another word, the Men hastily complied, scrambling away from the tip of Pippin's weapon and taking off at a run. They hollered fearfully to each other, pointing up to Bagshot Row where Sharkey supposedly resided.

"Well, we didn't come home too soon," murmured Frodo after they had disappeared. He looked at me, but thoughtfully, not accusingly. "What are we to do now?"

"Are we to fight?" Merry asked me.

"If there are many of those ruffians, it will most certainly come to that," Pippin answered, replacing his sword. "They're off to get reinforcements, I'd guess."

"I'm not sure of their number," I said, "but I think you can take them with reinforcements of your own."

"We could hole up in Farmer Cotton's place on the South Lane," Sam said.

"No," Merry said. "The time for hiding is gone."

It was early evening by now, and the sun was beginning to fade in the west. I observed my friends noiselessly, leaning forward over Bronwe's neck. I was momentarily forgotten, but I didn't mind.

Pippin peered into the gray sky and said, "I can ride for Tookland and be back in a few hours with anyone willing to fight."

"And I'll go around Hobbiton and Bywater to tell everyone," Merry volunteered. "There are plenty of sturdy folk in the area. Frodo, why don't you and Sam — " The Brandybuck stopped, uncertain, spotting me over Frodo's shoulder.

I picked up his unfinished sentence. "If Sam is going to Farmer Cotton's, then I'll go with him and stay the night there. I'm no good in a battle."

My hobbits smiled, and we split up, our plans set. Frodo kissed me before sending me away with Sam, promising, "I'll see you in the morning, Jo."

Merry and Pippin galloped in opposite directions down the road, blowing horns and shouting as they went by the few hobbit-holes on their way out of town. Sam and I turned away and moved toward a nearby row of desolate _smials_, while doors opened and lights appeared in dark windows around us — the hobbits had heard the song of my friends' war-horns. They were shouting at us from every side, clamoring to know what was going on, but Sam didn't stop until we reached Farmer Cotton's small home at the end of the lane. The Gamgee slipped from his pony and jumped up a few steps to knock on the family's small, yellow door. It opened a fraction, revealing a tanned, grisly face underneath a straw hat.

"Who are you?" the hobbit growled.

"It's me, Sam," the Gamgee said breathlessly, "Samwise Gamgee. I've come back."

The door was flung back, and the old hobbit stared intently into Sam's honest countenance and gave his Elvish get-up a close scrutiny. "Well, Sam!" Cotton said, after a beat. "You've been in foreign parts, haven't you? We feared that you and Mr. Frodo were dead!"

I tied Bronwe to the fence enclosing the front garden and came up slowly behind Samwise, fiddling with the hem of my sleeve between my fingers. Farmer Cotton's neighbors were observing our exchange suspiciously.

"No, I'm not dead," Sam informed him needlessly. "None of us are — we're aiming to clear the ruffians and their Chief from the Shire. We're starting now."

"Good, and it's about time, too," Cotton said, sparing me only a cursory glance as I approached. "I'll come with you straight away, lad."

Without turning to me, Sam reached back for my hand and pulled me forward gently. "Mr. Cotton, this is Miss Jo, if you'll remember. It isn't safe for her to be out, with everything going on, so I wondered — "

"She can stay with Mrs. Cotton and my Rosie," the farmer interjected, gesturing over his shoulder. Sam and I leaned to see around him into his front parlor, where the two hobbit-ladies were waiting apprehensively, staring at us. Rosie was as I remembered, short and delicate, with sandy curls spilling over her shoulders.

Sam's grip tightened a little around my fingers, and he waved with his free hand, somewhat clumsily. "Good evening, Mrs. Cotton. Hello, Rosie," he greeted timidly.

"Hello, Sam," she called back softly. "I've been expecting you since spring — people had begun to think you were lost. You didn't bother hurrying, did you?"

I noticed the small flush that crept into Sam's cheeks, but he only coughed. "Well, I'm hurrying now," he said. "We hope to have this done with by morning."

"Off with you, then!" she said. "Take care of yourself."

Sam nodded, gave my hand a last squeeze, and left with Farmer Cotton and a group of others that had gathered on the path. Mrs. Cotton breezed forward and shut the door behind them, then turned to me.

"When was the last time you had a home-cooked meal, Miss Jo?"

The evening I spent with the two ladies would have been decidedly more enjoyable if they hadn't been worrying for the two hobbits they had sent into the horrific clutches of battle. I hated to be overly cheerful, so I ate with them quietly, and we conversed on the few topics I knew were safe: the roads, the weather, the food, and an abbreviated version of what we had all been doing for the last year. Their attentiveness to my stories was polite, but distracted, and they did much more talking than I, with their focus on the happenings in the Shire. After supper, we stayed in their kitchen, and all talked ceased, for they were evidently listening intently for any noise outside. Any fighting must have been going on far away, though; I heard nothing.

The hours leading up to midnight and beyond ticked slowly by, and only after I almost toppled from my chair out of exhaustion did Mrs. Cotton inform me that the bedrooms were along an adjacent hallway. I declined to leave them, however. This was more worry than any hobbit in the Shire had been forced to deal with in centuries, and I wished to support the Cottons however I could.

I wasn't aware of falling asleep, but I awoke with a start a few hours later, my cheek pressed flat to the clean, wooden surface of the Cottons' kitchen table. Pain shot through my neck and shoulders as I lifted myself up. "Ow," I groaned feebly.

This went unnoticed to Mrs. Cotton, who was standing at the single round window of the large room with a fist pushed into her chin. Her frame was silhouetted against the ashen early morning light.

Shoving back from the table, I sat limply in my seat, every part of me aching. "It'll be over by now, Mrs. Cotton," I said, blinking hard to clear my vision.

For a moment, it appeared she hadn't heard me, but then she said absentmindedly, "You must forgive us for making you rest at the table, Miss Jo."

I winced at her back, standing tentatively. "It's all right. Thank you for letting me stay with you." I joined her at the window and scanned the horizon. There was no sign of a battle, or of a victory for either side, in the immediate area. Dragging a few fingers through my hair, I sighed and announced, "I think I'll go see how it went."

I departed the Cottons' _smial_ with only a few protests from its inhabitants, and a minute later Bronwe and I were cantering back to the center of Bywater. I saw the first signs of a skirmish on the path near the place I had parted with my hobbits — clubs and hatchets had been dropped in the dust, and the ground had been marred by deep marks. Further on, broken arrows and some spotty patches of blood appeared as well. I was studying these when I heard Pippin Took shout to me from up ahead. My head came up, and I saw that my friends were standing in a large circle of hobbits in front of _The Green Dragon_. Everyone was smiling.

"Smart work, eh, Jo?" the Took said proudly. I reached them, and they hastily informed me of how they had trapped a group of over a hundred men in the center of the village with their archers and barricades. Very few had been killed.

"They're all gone," Pippin finished, "and now we just have Sharkey to deal with."

"The sooner the better," I said.

I gave Bronwe to Farmer Cotton for safekeeping, and my friends and I walked with a small collection of the stronger hobbits toward the Hill. I soon saw that there, the place was even more scarred by Saruman's evils. As we mounted the knoll, the sparse grass at the edges of the path gave way to pebbly sand, and a thick, tainted smell came into the air. I was contemplating giving the hobbits a final warning when we crested the Hill — and my friends, as one, took in a sharp breath.

The rolling green lands had been blackened, every tree felled and replaced by low, tar-roofed huts. The flowering fields that had once stretched like a patchwork quilt to the horizon had been beaten into dry, dead squares underneath us. The Party Field, where I'd danced so long ago with my hobbits, was a yawning pit, and the Party Tree had been chopped down and discarded in a huge broken heap. Wagons lined the road all the way up to Bag End.

I trembled — even though I had expected the worst, I was shaken, and I sensed my throat tightening. This was my home, and it had been ravaged. Beside me, Sam put a hand to his forehead and wept.

Somewhere to our flank, a horrid, guttural laugh reached our ears. I turned, and on the low wall built across the entry of a shack next to the road, I spotted the hobbit Ted Sandyman lounging smugly. My memory whisked me back to the night I had told him off in _The Green Dragon _for calling the Bagginses crazy.

"Don't you like it, Sam?" Sandyman mocked. "You always were too soft. I thought you'd gone and got yourself killed in one of those adventures you used to prattle about. Too bad for us that you had to come back."

"Silence yourself, Ted Sandyman," Merry said, clenching his jaw. "We won't allow you to speak to us that way."

The hobbit guffawed. "You can't touch me. I'm a friend of the Boss's, and if I have any more of your mouth, he'll set you straight."

Despite myself, I sensed my fingers clamping over the hilt of my sword. Just then, I hated him more than anything else in Middle-earth. After all we had been through, everything we had fought for, how _dare_ he act superior to us! "Ted Sandyman," I forced out through my teeth, fury surging through me, "I thought that I put you in your place when you offended Sam and I last year."

Recognizing me for the first time, Sandyman was taken aback, and he could not answer.

"You are insolent and dirty, Sandyman," said Merry. "We are going to deal with your Boss in just a minute. You had better go warn him."

Flabbergasted, Sandyman promptly toppled backward off his wall. He reemerged several feet away, stumbling as he fought to get himself to his feet and dash in the direction of Bag End.

Our company continued sullenly through the desolate remains of Bagshot Row. This was the path I had taken dozens of times with a sweet wind at my back and warm sunlight pouring like gold upon the hills. With those recollections fresh in my mind, the focus of my anger shifted from Ted Sandyman to Saruman. This was _his_ fault, that rotting piece of cursed flesh…

My heart pounding, we came up to Bag End at last. It was a broken shell of what it used to be, its windows black, weeds growing wildly in the lawn. Telling the rest of our guard to wait, Frodo led my hobbits and me slowly up the front steps and pushed in the door without knocking. Inside, the rooms were ransacked, but Saruman was nowhere to be found. The entire hole smelled of grime and dust.

"This is worse than Mordor," Sam said, ducking to pick up a ripped tapestry.

"Yes, this is Mordor," Frodo agreed. He was standing in the middle of the old parlor, his hand atop a toppled writing desk. "Saruman was doing its work all the time, even though he believed he was working for himself."

Sighing forlornly, I leaned on the round entryway that separated the parlor from the front hall. The open door at my back allowed a small gust to play with my skirts. I brushed my fringe away from my brow, about to suggest going back outside to search for "Sharkey," but at that moment, a cool, breezy voice floated over my shoulder.

"Now, now — isn't the little Ring-bearer intuitive?"

I did a startled about-face. Saruman the White was poised outside on one of the lower steps, looking in on me.

The hobbits piled into the hall around me at the unexpected disturbance, and we advanced cautiously into the open. He watched us, stony-faced, his black eyes glimmering out of his sallow, bony countenance, his arms folded within his billowing sleeves. We moved out onto the first stair.

"What are you doing here, Saruman?" Frodo demanded.

"Haven't you guessed that, yet?" the wizard answered. "I'm here to put you little hobbit-lordlings back in your rightful place."

"I don't believe we need anyone to do that for us," Frodo said.

Saruman ignored him and said mutedly, "You thought you could just amble back and have a nice quiet time in the country, didn't you? My home could be wrecked, and I could be cast out in disgrace, but no one could touch you, oh no. One ill turn deserves another. This is your lesson, and it would have been a sharper one if only I'd had more time and more men."

Frodo stiffened. "If that is what pleases you, I pity you. Leave this place at once."

Someone in the company that was still waiting for us at the gate shouted, "Don't let him go, Frodo! He's a villain and a murderer — kill him!"

Saruman's ugly features darkened, and he pulled himself to an imposing height. "Whoever strikes me shall be cursed," he announced piercingly. "If my blood stains the Shire, it shall wither and never again be healed."

Every hobbit that heard him flinched and quieted, but I just shook my head, frowning faintly. I perceived the weakness behind his threat, and I was oddly unafraid.

"Don't listen to him," I told my friends. "It's just his voice, the only power he has left."

A small, birdlike jerk of his head brought Saruman's gaze directly to mine. He paused, then his mouth curled under his hoary mustache. "So," he said, regarding me with evil deliberation, "this is the Man-daughter that posed such a threat to all of the Dark Lord's plans. Our meeting has been long in coming."

I glared at him, and the group beyond him on the path began to whisper in bewilderment. They had no idea what was happening.

Taunting me, the wizard went on, "I suppose you served your purpose well enough, did you not? It all passed as your foolish friends would have had it, with the great powers of Isengard and Mordor failing. Although — it is a pity you didn't manage to save your precious home from the same fate."

A creeping figure emerged from the shadows in the garden at the periphery of my vision, bent and timid and dressed in shabby black robes. The hobbits glanced confusedly at him, but Saruman had me pinned, and I could not move. I felt my eyebrows twitch.

"It was supposed to happen this way," I said.

"Shame," he said icily. "Then, are we finally at the extremity of your knowledge? Or is there more for you to tell, perhaps?"

I took my concentration off the wizard long enough to see that the lurking figure nearing us was a man with stringy black hair and a white, sunken face. He crouched low, observing us cagily. _Wormtongue_, I remembered, and my stomach wrenched at the pitiful sight. I looked back to Saruman. He was smiling wickedly.

"What, pray, shall my end be, Milady?" he asked, mocking and malicious.

His words were prowling at the edges of my mind, like wolves waiting to strike. I put all my attention to a spot in the wizard's wrinkled forehead, collecting myself.

"There is no point in telling you your end, Saruman," I quavered. "You've already reached it."

The smile fell from his lips, and his eyes blazed. He was beaten.

"Well," he growled, "I shall take to the Road again, then. You and your Lady have robbed my revenge of sweetness, Halfling," he told Frodo. "Come, Worm!"

Wormtongue, the wind pulling strands of his greasy hair across his white forehead, hesitated as his master walked to the gate. The creature was only a few steps away from us, looking wretched and poor.

Frodo said, "You do not have to follow him. You have done us no wrong."

Wormtongue shifted to consider his offer, wringing his hands. His irises were a color of unnaturally hazy blue.

Saruman heard this and whirled, shouting fervently, "No wrong? Haven't you foolish Halflings remembered poor Lotho Sackville-Baggins yet? Worm knows where he's hiding! Won't you tell them, you miserable thing?"

"No, I can't!" the man said shrilly, recoiling.

"Wormtongue killed your Chief, your little Boss," Saruman announced. "Stabbed him in his sleep, I believe."

Wormtongue twitched up, clutching his white fists to his chest. "But — you told me to do it! You made me!"

"Yes, and you'll do as I say now," the wizard barked. He kicked his servant viciously in the side. "Follow!"

Fuming, Saruman left him there. Wormtongue slowly recovered, his breath rushing haggardly through his teeth. A feral look had fallen on him, and he was glowering with hatred at his master's retreating back. Something had been released in him. I caught a flash of silver at his elbow just before he leapt to his feet and lunged at Saruman, slicing at his neck with a dagger. I shouted in dismay, and the hobbits on the road reacted within an instant — and Wormtongue fell upon the slain wizard, his master, with three arrows in his side.

Horrified, the hobbits gaped at the two bodies, and Frodo went forward and knelt to cover their faces with Wormtongue's cape. I released a lungful of air.

"It's done," I said.

"I hope so," Frodo agreed, dully. "The very last stroke has fallen. I never expected it to happen here, at the very door of Bag End."

"I wouldn't call it the end yet, Mr. Frodo," Sam said, "not until we've cleared this horrid mess. That'll take a lot of time and work."

Pippin swallowed and tore his stare away. "I guess we should start cleaning up right away, then."

The crowd around Bag End dispersed, and Merry, Pippin, and Sam went to investigate the conditions at their own homes, each kissing me and promising to return soon. Frodo asked a couple of hobbits to bury Saruman and Wormtongue. He and I were soon alone, and we retreated into the remains of Bag End.

Inside, I took off my cloak and hung it on a peg next to the door. Frodo meandered into the parlor and opened a window. "I had hoped to bring you back to a better home, Jo," he called through the wall.

"It's all right," I said, almost sneezing in the dust I stirred while removing my boots. "Everything can be fixed in time."

"This has been a gray day," Frodo heaved, the small statement muffled.

Resolving to make the best of things, I tied up my curls and shouted to him, "What needs to be done first?" I squatted to pick up a thick stack of rotting papers, hoping that nothing important had been lost on their fading surfaces. "Can I throw any of these things out? Frodo?"

Peeking around the corner into the next room, I discovered with a start that the Baggins was standing in the doorframe right in front of me. His eyes were sparkling, and a tiny smile was dancing on his lips.

"I think… we can delay tidying up for just a moment," he said, taking the papers from me and pulling me up against him. I gave a short laugh, stunned by his forwardness. But then he wrapped his arms around my waist and kissed me.

We didn't get any cleaning done until well after lunch.


	42. A Long Expected Wedding

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own any of Tolkien's characters or the world he created. The only character of mine (Jorryn) has decided to take a holiday in Tolkien's Middle-earth. No copyright infringement on any of J. R. R. Tolkien's works is intended.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** So… yeah. I'm so _very_ sorry this took so long. But! I have a valid excuse! I finally got a new computer! If anyone around here keeps up with my LiveJournal, they know that by the beginning of May, my old computer was completely _dead_. I nearly lost all my drawings and fanfic files, but I managed to rescue a lot with floppy discs. :) Another reason why it's taken me so long involves my own reluctance to end this story. It's been an ongoing project for four years, and I've grown rather attached to it. It's hard to think it's going to be over soon. I would really appreciate reviews, e-mails, LiveJournal comments, or anything else for these last couple of chapters. I really want to know what everyone thinks, here at the end. As always, **thanks to everyone who reads and reviews**. You all rock.

**EDIT: **No, this is not the end…

Jorryn and the hobbits are back in the Shire, and it's time for another grand Party…

**41**

The restoration of the Shire took much less time than I or anyone else expected. I soon discovered that, when they put their minds to it, hobbits could work as diligently as Dwarves, and day by day, the task of putting our country to rights grew smaller and smaller. In the beginning, Frodo and I busied ourselves in Bag End, trying to make it inhabitable, but Sharkey and his Men had done damage to every part of the _smial_, and we realized that we wouldn't be able to return to it for several weeks. We lived with Farmer Cotton until the end of the year, spending the winter with Rosie and her family. When Bag End was again fit for living, Frodo moved back in, but I stayed with the Cottons for the sake of modesty. Decorum had not been an issue when both Gandalf and Bilbo lived there, too, but I felt that staying alone with Frodo now would draw too much attention.

In the months that followed our return, Pippin and Merry hunted down the remnants of Saruman's people, and Sam ordered all of the black buildings built around the Shire torn down. Frodo took a position as Deputy Mayor of the Shire, while the old mayor, Will Whitfoot, recovered from the time he had been kept imprisoned during Sharkey's reign. I did what I could to aid them all, but my tasks were small — I helped families around Hobbiton clean out their hobbit-holes and gardens, and I rode through the country with my friends whenever they traveled to check on the other Farthings.

Soon, Bagshot Row was tidied up and renamed _New Row_, and all the pits and terrible factory-like shacks that Saruman had made around town were destroyed. Sam took the gift that Galadriel had given him in Lórien, a small container of fine earth, and used the precious dust to plant new trees all over the Shire; with every seed he sprinkled a little of the Elvish soil. He had also been given a single, pearly seed, which he deposited in the Party Field where our great Tree had been cut down. After the winter, magnificent plants sprung up wherever Sam had been, and in the Field, a beautiful tree with shiny gray bark and golden blossoms sprouted rapidly. Pippin told me that it was a _mallorn_ of Lothlórien, a magnificent Elvish seedling.

After the New Row was finished and our old home was fixed up, I journeyed with Merry and Pippin to Crickhollow in Buckland and retrieved all of the things that we had taken there so long ago, back when Frodo had given Bag End to the Sackville-Bagginses. It was March, a year after the destruction of the Ring and many months since my dear Baggins had asked me to marry him. If truth be told, I was beginning to worry about my betrothal — nothing had been said of it since then. It had only recently come out that Sam had proposed to the sweet Rosie, and that was currently the talk of Hobbiton. No one but my hobbits knew of my relationship with Frodo, and I was beginning to wonder if the Baggins had forgotten or changed his mind.

But when Merry, Pippin, and I returned with a wagonload of old belongings in the middle of the month, Frodo caught me as I brought a trunk of books into the front hall of the _smial_. He was holding a large parcel, waiting for me just inside the doorway, a small grin on his lips.

"I have something for you, Jo," he announced.

Groaning, I set the heavy trunk down and stretched my throbbing arms. "What is it?" I asked with slight curiosity. I took the bundle from him and tore at the brown paper in which it was wrapped — suddenly, a white skirt, embroidered finely with pale blue flowers, immediately unfolded and spilled into my arms. I gasped in wonder and delight.

"You'll still have me, won't you?" Frodo wondered quietly.

Happiness exploded within me and sent warmth to all my limbs. "Of course, you silly hobbit!" I exclaimed. "When — how soon?"

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and tilted his head coyly, answering, "How about the beginning of the next month?"

Gaping at him, I clapped a palm over my mouth to stifle a squeak of glee. "That's only a couple of weeks away! Won't we need more time to plan everything?"

"Hobbits aren't known for their meticulous planning, Jo," Frodo chuckled, sitting down comfortably on a nearby chair, "even for weddings. Whether or not we have plenty of food is our only concern. Besides, it doesn't need to be like Bilbo's Party, with pavilions, or fireworks — or the whole of the Shire showing up."

"Do you think you could help everyone coming, either way?" I smirked.

"No, I suppose not," he mused. A beat of silence elapsed, and thoughts flitted around frantically in my skull, my mind already working to figure what would need to be done.

"A couple of weeks — that's so soon," I repeated, mostly to myself. "Did you not want to invite anyone from the Fellowship, or Rivendell? They'd barely have time to find out as it is."

"I don't know how I would contact most of them," Frodo said dimly, diverting his stare. He folded his arms across his chest and added, "And those I could reach… they wouldn't come, regardless of how much they may want to."

The resigned sadness of this remark jabbed at my heart, and I hurried to change the subject. "When are Sam and Rosie having their wedding?"

"A few weeks after ours, if we go ahead with it. I already checked with him."

It was a short, clipped reply, and I could tell that a darkness had settled on him that I could not dispel. I placed my hand gently on his shoulder and asked, "Do you want something to eat?"

He shook his head briefly and offered me little more than a vague smile before I left him.

I thought I may have to rush about crazily to have to get ready for my wedding within a fortnight, but Frodo had been right — there was very little to do. We decided to have the ceremony in the Party Field under our new _mallorn_ tree, and vines of white flowers from the Gaffer's gardens would serve as decorations. There would be one pavilion and no more than a hundred invited guests, though we knew to expect more. I insisted that the invitations be out in a few days, and we received replies shortly after, along with congratulatory remarks, wonderful gifts, and several bouquets. Once Frodo finalized the preparations for a large feast, we were finished. There was no honeymoon to arrange, no rings to buy, no cleaning up to do; the Shire looked fresher and better than it had in centuries, and as far as I knew, there were a number of wedding traditions that had not yet come into existence. At any rate, I was pleased.

Those days leading up to April I spent with Pippin, Merry, and Samwise, tending Bag End's gardens and taking midnight walks under the stars, just like in the old times. Despite not having to plan for anything, I didn't have a spare moment. My hobbits seemed determined to keep me from fretting about the wedding — though Pip and Meriadoc found more than one occasion to pester me about it. They would tease that their "little Lady was all grown up" or that I would "make a proper hobbit out of Frodo at last", among other things. They notified me that they were giving speeches after Frodo and I said our vows, and they told me such colorful examples of what they planned to say that I grew truly worried and had to have Frodo warn them that any hoaxes would result in a good thrashing.

The day of my wedding, the fourth of April, dawned clean and bright, and the sun covered the fields and green hills of Hobbiton in fresh golden radiance. Merry came into my room early and tickled my feet to wake me for breakfast. "Happy wedding day, my good Lady," he sang to me in a high-pitched voice.

I sat up and kicked him impishly before he walked out. Getting out from the blankets to dress, I saw through my window that the sky was a deep, cloudless blue. There was dew on the leaves of all the young trees near the road outside the home, and in the crisp breeze that stirred their branches, the tiny droplets upon their boughs glimmered like diamonds. That was when my stomach started to writhe with anxiety.

I went to the Cottons' kitchen and discovered that Pippin had arrived from Bag End to join us, and Sam and Rosie were busy helping Mrs. Cotton fix breakfast. Mr. Cotton was already seated with Peregrin, the elder hobbit puffing on a clay pipe. Merry plopped down next to me.

"Good morning," everyone greeted.

"Did you sleep well, Miss Jo?" Rosie asked.

"Yes, thank you — good morning."

Pippin welcomed me with a wickedly playful announcement. "You should have seen Frodo this morning," he said. "He's about ready to jump out of his skin. If he weren't being made to entertain all his distant relatives at Bag End, I'm sure he would go insane waiting for this afternoon to roll around."

"Be quiet, Peregrin Took," Mrs. Cotton reprimanded, putting a plate of bread and jam before me. "I daresay you'll feel the same, one day."

Merry shot a doubtful expression across the table to Pippin.

I ate my breakfast bouncily, unable to keep more than a glass of milk and a piece of bread down. I was not very active in the others' conversation. I kept catching myself looking out the open window whenever carriages or groups of hobbits passed. By the time of our midday meal, I was a bundle of nerves, pacing through every room six times, much to my friends' amusement.

After lunch, Sam convinced me to sit outside with him while he had a smoke, and the delicious spring afternoon and the familiar smell of pipe-weed calmed me. Newly-arrived wedding guests continued to pass us on the road, driving carts or walking in large groups, and they waved to us excitedly.

I returned their salutations and, squinting after them, confided worriedly to my friend, "I don't know how much longer I can take this, Sam."

A cloud of bluish smoke broke from the Gamgee's mouth, and he informed me helpfully, "The Gaffer says that a wedding is nothing to fuss over, Miss Jo. We hobbits don't make much of the ceremony… all you have to do is promise Mr. Frodo that you'll take care of him, and then it's over."

Contemplative, I perched my chin atop my folded knees, peeking at him. "Are you nervous at all about your own wedding?"

He coughed, startled by the question. "Begging your pardon, Miss Jo?"

Laughing sympathetically, I shook my head and said, "Never mind, Sam. Maybe it's time I started getting dressed."

When we went back inside the Cottons' home, Rosie and her mother whisked me away to help me get ready, and Sam left for Bag End to see if Frodo needed any assistance.

My dress was very Hobbitish — it had sleeves gathered at the elbow, a boned, square-cut bodice, and two layered skirts (which were a bit longer than customary, so that my feet would hardly show under the hem). It was made of a fine white silk, simple in design, perfectly matched to my wishes. Rosie and Mrs. Cotton gave me obligatory "ooh's" and "ah's", and rearranged me for several minutes.

After I was clothed, Pippin was called and he tied up sections of my hair much like he had at the Fields of Cormallen, in random places in a connected web of curls.

"Did you ever think this day would come?" he asked, spinning me around and kissing my forehead once he was done.

Before long, I was ready, and Rosie, Mrs. Cotton, and Pip led me back into the parlor to present their work to Merry and Mr. Cotton. Upon my entrance, Merry rose from his chair, and his dark eyes gleamed the instant he saw me. "A fine bride you'll make," he said, beaming lopsidedly. "I'm almost jealous."

"Thank you, Merry," I muttered, embarrassed.

"It's nothing, Milady," he said, and he grabbed for his coat. "We'd better hurry… the guests have already taken over the Party Field, and I'm sure old Frodo is almost mad with apprehension."

The Brandybuck and the Took escorted me out of the Cottons' hobbit-hole, held the garden gate open for me, and began the walk along the dirt path to the Field. Strolling alongside me, they looked wonderful, Merry dressed in a chocolate-brown waistcoat and Pippin in an emerald vest. Their springy tangles, strawberry- and sandy-blonde, fell charmingly across their brows. Meandering along, Merry inserted one thumb into the pocket of his jacket, and Pippin swung his limbs freely.

By then, it was late in the afternoon, but it didn't seem like any specific time at all to me. I felt I was dreaming, and the voices of a hundred hobbits rising in a dull roar from the meadow below me were drowned out by the beating of my own heart. I shouldn't have been nervous, but everything seemed to wash over me all at once. I was getting married to _the _Frodo Baggins, the Ring-bearer, the hero I had fallen in love with in my own Time, the hobbit praised by so many as the bravest in all of Middle-earth. How in the world had I gotten this far?

My head spinning, I faltered on the path, and I gasped, "Oh, help…"

Merry and Pippin, on either side of me, linked their arms through mine supportively. They paused, waiting so that I could gain control of myself.

"It's all right, Jo," Pippin said, in that sweet, accented voice that made his words lilt and slur. "You'll be fine. Once you get to Frodo, it'll be a long boring time before you can sit down again, and you'll forget that you were ever nervous in your eagerness to have it done with."

I looked to him, saw his bright green gaze fixed on me, and somehow, I found the sense to laugh.

The westering sun sent its rays slanting down into the Party Field, the light landing softly on our one large pavilion and the ropes of white flowers strung around the perimeter of the gathering. The guests were standing or sitting in an area lighted by lanterns beside the tent, the buzz of their chatter loud in the cool air. I recognized a few of them from the first Party, such as the remaining Sackville-Bagginses and many of Peregrin's relatives. At the very front of their formation, I could just see Frodo standing under a small arch of twisted branches and vines.

Merry, Pip, and I were spotted approaching, and someone sent up a cry. The guests cheered.

The Brandybuck and Took broke away, giving me quick hugs and comforting glances, and a small hobbit-lass scurried up to hand me a bouquet of cream primroses and ivy. Timid, I forced myself to peer down the narrow aisle between the guests, at the end of which stood Frodo Baggins, who was waiting for me. His porcelain skin was flushed, and his eyes were bright — so bright that they matched the brocaded, double-breasted vest he wore over his simple tunic.

I went to him, unable to stop a gleeful grin from spreading across my features, pure adoration for the hobbit bubbling up overpoweringly in my fluttering heart. The guests quieted as I passed, the mothers shushing the children and the elders straining to see from their seats, and I glimpsed Merry and Pip take their places in the front row. _This is it_, I thought.

My breath growing short, I reached Frodo and moved to stand opposite him. We smiled at each other, saying nothing, our eyes locked together. It seemed that we had been apart for ages, and I was lost in him… until someone in the first row coughed conspicuously.

I looked up at perceived Pippin's father, Paladin Took, come to stand with us in front of everyone. He winked at me benevolently, and I remembered that I had met him once in Tuckborough, at Pippin's home.

"Good to see you again, Frodo," he said gruffly. "Are you two ready to get on with it?"

Frodo nodded, "Yes, thank you, Mr. Took."

The aged hobbit turned to the guests and cleared his throat. Noticing my dumbstruck frown, Frodo bent and whispered, "It's tradition for an elder, someone close to us, to open the ceremony. I asked Pippin's father to give the first speech, since Bilbo isn't here."

Mr. Took was now speaking. "My good hobbits and friends," he began, "we are here to celebrate a wedding!" Applause met this grand statement, and the hobbit had to wait more than a few moments for silence. He said loudly, "I'm sure you all know Mr. Frodo and the Lady very well, and I, for one, am honored to share this day with them."

More unruly clapping. Paladin Took shook out a handkerchief and swiped at his forehead.

"We have been through some tough times recently, as none here wish too quickly to remember," the Shire-thain added. "But a wedding, especially this one, should serve as proof that all is finally well in our lands, and nothing shall trouble the Shire for a very long time."

"Hear, hear!" whooped Merry and Pippin.

"So… as Thain of the Shire and a friend to Mr. Frodo and the Lady, it is my pleasure to welcome you to this long-awaited celebration!"

Approval for the Took's speech resounded over the Field. Indifferent, the Thain put his back and them and blew his nose into his handkerchief, muttering to Frodo in an undertone before returning his seat, "Go on, then, lad."

With that, Frodo bit his suddenly trembling lower lip and took my hand in his, pivoting to me. A blanket of thick hush fell over the gathering at this, their racket halting as quickly as music on an unplugged stereo.

"Jo," Frodo started quietly, the single syllable of my name cracking slightly, "I take you as my wife. I receive you as my hand and my heart. I promise to love you, protect you, and nurture you for the rest of our lives, in plenty and in poverty, in grief and in happiness. Let all present stand witness to this promise."

At the conclusion of his vows, I grinned at him proudly. _Nearly there_, I thought. Eager to have my part done, I swallowed and repeated the binding words, though more timorously and with a blushing countenance, staring at Frodo as he listened intently to my recitation. I wanted to fall into his arms before I was halfway through, but the mixture of my nervousness and the joyful tears that were threatening to spill over my eyelids was enough to keep me focused.

I was partly aware that I had finished when a smile swiftly lit up the Baggins's face, and I realized he was leaning in to kiss me. My bouquet was crushed between us, and as his mouth touched mine, the guests cheered riotously, and whistles and shouts filled the area. Someone threw a handful of confetti over us.

"So where is the food?" Pippin yelled, provoking a laugh from everyone.

Frodo, his arm around me, led the guests into the pavilion, and we sat ourselves at a round table with Pip, Merry, Samwise, the recuperating mayor Will Whitfoot, and a much thinner Fatty Bolger. Even though the cause for celebration was a _wedding_, the conversation followed the usual Hobbitish track: Frodo and I were congratulated and wished the best of luck, and then the talk moved abruptly to weather and roads and the crops currently being tended. My opinions were requested a couple of times, and I told them what I could, overjoyed to finally be fully accepted into their society.

Merry and Pippin found the discussion boring, however, and they entertained themselves by tossing flower petals, bits of bread, and small pebbles over to me while Fatty and Frodo were trying to talk about the condition of the Westfarthing. Apart from the dull chatter, they couldn't complain. The food was rich and the ale was plentiful.

Evening was well upon the Shire by the time the feast was over. Clouds had begun their long trek across the darkening sky, their underbellies painted bright orange by the last rays of the failing sun. In the east, stars glinted faintly, and I watched as the deep blue of twilight stained the sky over the distant Misty Mountains. Had I really been there once, so far away, where it was already night?

An unexpected burst of noise brought me back to the present, where a somewhat tipsy Pippin was trying to stand on his chair to make his after-dinner speech, and the wedding guests were giving him ample encouragement. The young hobbit balanced himself against Fatty and waved for everyone's attention, though he already had it.

The Took's speech was made up mostly of jokes and funny anecdotes involving either Frodo or me. He told of times before he had known Frodo and the first jokes he had played on him, and he even divulged that he, Merry, and I had been the infamous vegetable-thieves that had raided Odo Whitfoot's gardens many times before the Quest had taken us away. Beside me, poor Will Whitfoot was stunned.

"I never thought you'd get dragged into their mischief, Milady," he said sadly.

Pip finished up by proclaiming to Frodo and me, "I hope you two know that Merry and I will automatically become godfathers to any children you soon have, and when the little Bagginses are old enough, they will come under our tutelage. We will ensure that Odo Whitfoot continues to pay his tribute to the great Brandybuck, Took, and Baggins families."

The assembly exploded with laughter, and the hobbit-children shrieked delightedly after Peregrin lost his balance, fell off his chair, and dragged Fatty down with him.

Merry was next, but he was much more sober and serious than his friend. He began by recounting his first meetings with both of us (carefully avoiding the fact that I had been brought from the future), narrating the well-known tale of his rescue from the Hobbiton pond during my earliest days at Bag End. That occurrence was a subject of amusement, now, and everyone chuckled at the memory.

"That was in the happiest of times," Merry said wistfully, "and I could tell even then that Lady Jorryn was… a person of interest in Frodo's mind."

Frodo snorted, and Meriadoc shot a mischievous wink downward to us. The blood had rushed to my face, but I was giggling.

The Brandybuck went on, "I am sure that, if certain events had not soon after forced us to leave the Shire, this wedding would have taken place much earlier than today. Now that we are all in the same place again at last, I can wish them the best for their lives together." He lifted his mug and faced Frodo and me, and the rest of the company followed suit. "May you both be blessed in all that you do on your path together, and may you live long in the Shire and find all the joy you deserve."

"Hear, hear!" exclaimed all the guests as one, and they happily drank to us. I stood and gave Merry an enormous hug before letting him sit again, thanking him privately for being so sweet.

Turning back to Frodo, I found him, to my surprise, looking dismally down into his empty plate, most of his gloomy expression hidden by the fringe of his brown curls.

* * *

It was very late before Frodo and Samwise were able to chase the last of the partygoers away from the Hill. Already on Bag End's steps with most of our small wedding gifts, I observed the two hobbits' leisurely walk up from the Field. Side by side, they conversed inaudibly, Frodo picking at a leaf he had plucked from a small tree, Sam hiking with his thumbs in the waist of his trousers. Beyond them, the plains were dark — we had left the pavilion and other decorations until the morning, since no one was in much of a cleaning-up mood. Everyone had gone home full and content and with nothing but praise for the ale we had served. Pippin and Merry, who had perhaps appreciated that part of our party the most, had staggered off half an hour earlier to stay with Sam's family for the night. I guessed that the pair would sleep well into the next afternoon.

At length, Frodo and Sam reached Bag End's front gate, where the Gamgee hesitated. He shoved his rough fists into his pockets and kindly nodded a greeting to me. "Thank you very much for the lovely dinner, Mr. Frodo," he said pleasantly, "and congratulations to you both. I never saw a prettier wedding."

Frodo opened the gate and invited, "Won't you come in for a cup of tea?"

"I… think I'd better get back to check on the Gaffer, though I thank you for the offer," he said, his eyes darting upward to me. "You must be tired, anyhow, and I won't keep you."

"All right," Frodo shrugged, and he patted his friend amiably on the arm. "Goodnight, Sam."

"Goodnight, Mr. Frodo — goodnight to you, Miss Jo," he called.

"Sleep well, Sam," I bade.

His well-built form disappearing into the darkness, the hobbit strolled away toward the New Row, and Frodo moved up the steps to meet me. The second Sam vanished, the Baggins promptly took the pile of assorted gifts I held, set it next to the walk, and wrapped his arms around me, pressing us together. I laughed and looked into his face. His smooth skin was turned silvery-blue by the light of the newly risen moon, and the sparkle of stars was dancing in his crystalline irises. I saw the small gap between his front teeth as he smiled.

"Let's go inside, Jo," he said simply.

We ducked into the _smial_, and Frodo offered me the same tea as he had Sam, which I accepted gladly, having drunk nothing but milk all day. While waiting for the water to boil, I positioned myself comfortably on the floor of the parlor adjacent to the main kitchen, stretching my legs out in front of the hearth and warming my bare feet. Behind the walls, I heard Frodo rearranging dishes in the cupboards, his muted footsteps moving from one side of the room to another. A few minutes later, he returned with two cups of steaming drink, and he pulled up a chair to sit behind me, allowing me to lean back on his knees.

"Thank you," I mumbled to him, bringing the hot scent of tea leaves under my chilled nose.

All was silent for many minutes, save for the crackling of the firewood, and we drank our tea lost in thought. The cups _chinked _weakly against the saucers, and the unsteady light threw our shadows in every direction. I was taken back to what had happened after Bilbo's Party — I had come to this same, dark parlor, and I had met Gandalf. He'd questioned me, scrutinized me, pressed for answers, until I had revealed to him the extent of my knowledge. _That was so long ago_…

At my back, Frodo took his last sip, and I saw him place his empty teacup on the desk beside him. A second later I felt his hands gently in my hair as he worked to pull out the tiny ribbons Pippin had tied there.

"Jo," he murmured, "I want to speak with you about something."

I closed my eyes and enjoyed the sensation of our contact. "What is it?" I asked, trying not to sound too distracted.

"Pippin and Merry, and what they said in their speeches tonight," he answered awkwardly. "They are foolish, impractical hobbits… you know that, don't you?"

"I suppose so," I agreed, somewhat confused. "What did they say?"

He didn't answer right away. The hobbit seemed worried, but why? Had our two friends said something I had missed? I opened my eyes and prodded, "Did they offend you somehow, Frodo? If so, I'm sure they didn't mean anything by it — "

"No, it's not that," Frodo interrupted quietly. "Their speeches were beautiful, and they said some wonderful things… I'm just concerned that some of it might have been… _too_ wonderful, if you take my meaning."

Still not turned to him, I winced into the flames in front of my toes. He continued to tug his fingers through my curls, although I couldn't even appreciate the soft tickle of his fingertips at the back of my head, because my thoughts were elsewhere.

"What are you talking about?" I demanded.

The hobbit sighed sadly and leaned down to plant a kiss on my temple, explaining in a rueful tone, "They talked about our children, about growing old in the Shire and having all the contentment in the world."

"And what's the matter with all that?" I burst incredulously. He was acting absolutely insane.

His breath traveled across my neck in another sigh. "Jo… I cannot promise you a perfect ending… even now, after all is finished."

At last I understood him. He was scarred, in more ways than one, from all he had endured, and the evil that he had labored so long to remove from this world had taken a good deal of my Baggins with it. There was a shadow over him that no one could see; he was hurt and tired, unsure if he could live happily in the Shire until the end of his days.

And he didn't know how to express this to me. But I understood.

Without thought or reply, wanting to show him more than anything that I loved him, I merely turned my head and caught the hobbit in a reassuring kiss. He reacted within an instant, sinking toward me resignedly, his good hand shifting to tilt my chin up so that he could reach me from his chair. After a moment, he broke away.

"You will always have my heart, Jo," he whispered, stroking my cheek.

I swallowed against the almost painful torrent of thrill coursing through me. "And you have mine," I responded shakily.

He returned to me now with more fervent kisses. The touch of his mouth played warmly across mine, slow and lingering, deep and searching, until his movements led him gradually along the line of my jaw and downward, where he rested in the cradle of my neck, the feather-light brush of his lips discovering new territory. The heat of his breath on my collarbone elicited a shiver. His fingers glided down my arms and to my elbows, as far as he could reach, and he was forced to slip from his chair and kneel behind me on the parlor rug in order to continue his explorations. One of his arms curled around me, and he pressed his palm flat to my stomach.

The contact of his smooth face against my neck was enough to make my heart pound, but then, astonishingly, the Baggins tugged lightly at my left sleeve to expose my shoulder, and his mouth went there next. I stretched up and swept through his dark curls, sinking into him uninhibitedly. His hands traveled to the curve of my hips, pulling me close against him, drawing me in so that he could nuzzle my ear with his nose. Unable to stand it any longer, I twisted in his arms until I could meet his kisses with my own. I felt his body tense.

Still hugging me, Frodo paused for a lungful of air and touched his forehead to mine. I reached to brush stray hairs out of his brilliant stare, and his mouth quirked.

"You know," he said, "Sam and Rosie want to move in with us."

Shadows and firelight danced between us. I mirrored his smile. "Not for a while yet," I reminded him cheerfully.

Laughing, Frodo's embrace tightened around me, and he pulled me down on top of him on the parlor floor.

* * *

Please forgive me for the delay. At any rate, I hope you enjoy this, and please let me know what you think. :)


	43. Farewell

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own any of Tolkien's characters or the world he created. The only character of mine (Jorryn) has decided to take a holiday in Tolkien's Middle-earth. No copyright infringement on any of J. R. R. Tolkien's works is intended.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** I'm saving most of my "Author's Note" for the end of the chapter, so I won't say much here besides **sorry for the delay**, and also, **please read this chapter all the way through, **even if you find yourself wanting to stop halfway in. :) The song Frodo sings in this chapter is "In Dreams," which was featured in the song "Breaking of the Fellowship" by Fran Walsh and Howard Shore from _The Fellowship of the Ring._

**42**

Thunder broke over the Shire in a low, foreboding rumble, beginning somewhere deep within the sky and growing quickly into a bone-shaking roar that made the walls of Bag End quiver. Bursts of lightning flashed neon flares of radiance across the countryside, illuminating for a split-second the waving fields and muddied roads of the newly reclaimed lands.

I awoke with a start in my bed.

Blinking dazedly up at the ceiling, I came to my senses enough to realize that it was raining, and from the drab light coming into the room, I could tell it was likely still early. It was a cold mid-August morning, and I shivered, glancing to the empty pillow beside me in search of a warm body to curl up against — but Frodo was already gone.

Raindrops drummed persistently against the window. Groaning, I sat up under my blankets and squinted through the spattered glass, and I saw that the rain-soaked hills surrounding Hobbiton were gray under a dark storm, and the horizon was wreathed in heavy clouds. This was the worst weather we had seen all year. I silently prayed that Frodo, who had recently taken to leaving at dawn for his private walks in the woods, had not chosen to go out today.

We had been married over a year ago, and our time together had been sweet, but I could tell that Frodo's happiness had deteriorated since then. Outwardly, he was the same cheerful, intuitive hobbit I had always loved, and I believed that he was glad to be with me, but I knew that inside, he was pained beyond healing. I sometimes caught him standing at the window of the front parlor, his injured hand in his pocket, his eyes on something far away. At these times he was deep in thought, a shadow on his brow.

And when Sam and Rosie had joined us in Bag End, the _smial_ had been alive with so much laughter and joy that I was reminded of my earliest days with Bilbo and Gandalf. Then their daughter, Elanor, had been born, and they had invited dozens of guests to see the new baby. Yet Frodo had not met any of these guests — he'd retreated into one of the back offices and stayed there all day. He was slowly withdrawing into a world of his own, retiring from all public activities in the Shire. He faded away like a ghost.

With no affairs to tend to in Hobbiton, Frodo devoted the daytime hours to finishing Bilbo's book. He rarely stopped for rest. Along with this, he often went out at odd times of the night to meander aimlessly around the Hill. Waking up alone was something I had grown accustomed to.

Pippin and Merry understood their friend's private suffering, but they refused to let me become a hermit with him. Whenever they came to visit, they made me travel with them on rides through the country to visit their families, taking me to their favorite taverns around the Shire and singing to me while we galloped under the stars. They always wore the ceremonial garb of Rohan and Gondor, and I often donned the beaded Elvish cap that Bilbo had given me in Rivendell (which Frodo had gently deemed inappropriate for a hobbit-wedding), and we were met with wonder wherever we rode.

Pip and Meriadoc were asked repeatedly to tell of their adventures, and they were happy to satisfy anyone's curiosity, but it seemed that those who requested tales usually failed to recall that my dear Frodo had done anything of significance with us. The hobbits wanted to know about Gondor and Rohan, about the kings and Big Folk we knew, and, if Sam were with us, they asked him about Galadriel and the Elves. But somehow, Frodo and the Ring had disappeared completely from the minds of the Shire-folk. It broke my heart to see his deeds overlooked, but I could do nothing. He had been forgotten.

I was wrenched out of my thoughts by a bolt of lightning that illuminated the creases of my coverlet, and I resignedly pulled myself out from under the soft folds. My own fatigue and the dismal weather made me long for more sleep, but I had thought too much on my troubles and my brain was buzzing. The sky was brightening, and I heard movements in the hallway and chambers beyond.

I threw on a robe and walked past empty rooms to the front kitchen, where I found Rosie Gamgee putting a kettle on the fire, her daughter Elanor cradled in one arm. She spotted me as she bent to the hearth.

"Good morning, Miss Jo — you couldn't sleep, either?" she greeted. "Well, you lasted the longest. I can't imagine anyone sleeping much more with such storming going on. Elanor didn't much care for all the thunder."

"Oh, well, that's understandable," I said. I joined Rosie at the fireplace and wordlessly took little Elanor from her arms, so that she could work unhindered. Nestling the baby against my chest, I smiled down at her, and she peered back at me curiously with wide, chocolate-brown eyes. The newest Gamgee was only five months old, but I could already tell that she would grow into a beautiful hobbit-maiden, lovely like Rosie and as caring as Samwise. I kissed the child's fair pink cheek, unable to resist; her mother grinned approvingly.

I had become fast friends with Sam's wife. She was good-natured and cheerful, surprisingly wry and quick-witted, though the old Hobbitish traditions she tended to cling to often kept her from acting too audacious. She liked me very much, Sam told me, but there were times that I startled her with my "forwardness" around Frodo, and she couldn't believe that I had never learned how to cook a proper meal. The latter she had rectified quickly by asking for my help often around the kitchen.

Sitting down at the table, I wondered of my friend, "So Sam and Frodo are already awake, I take it?"

"I think they're in library across the hall, passing their time."

"Did they have breakfast?"

"Tea and cake — there's still some left over, beside the plates, there. They didn't seem to want very much of it."

I reached for a piece of the cake across the table and frowned. I had hoped that Frodo's mood would lift with the nearing conclusion of his book, but no such luck. "Was Frodo up before you, Rosie?" I inquired.

"I couldn't say. He met me in the parlor where I was rocking Elanor."

_You've seen him more than I have, today_, I thought darkly. I munched on my breakfast without speaking, listening to droplets pelt the round window at my back. The thunderstorm had weakened since my awakening — there was no more lightning, and sunlight was struggling to break through the clouds.

"Do you think Meriadoc and Pippin will still attempt to make it here for lunch, Miss Jo?"

Rosie was standing before a cupboard full of large pots now, obviously pondering her next move. Merry and Pip had meant to ride from Crickhollow early in the day to join us for a midday meal, but they were not likely to brave the rain, even if it eventually let up. Rosie placed her delicate hands upon her hips, her face twisted in thought.

"I'm… not sure," I answered, glancing down at Elanor and pulling my loose curls away from the tiny, grappling fingers that had been cautiously stretching toward me.

The baby gurgled disappointedly at the loss of this distraction, so I compensated by blowing a gentle raspberry at her, cooing, "You can't pull my hair, dearest. It's not for you to play with." I stuck my tongue out and crossed my eyes, and she gave a cry of delight.

I looked up to find Rosie turned toward us, her eyes shining warmly.

Merry and Pippin did indeed come to visit, but it wasn't until a week after the day they had meant to arrive, on an afternoon blessed with a cloudless sky. I was resting on the steps leading down to the front lawn, the fresh sunlight blazing almost painfully in my eyes, a crisp wind curling around the Hill and chilling my bare arms, when the two hobbits cantered up the path on their ponies. Today they each wore the rich cloaks of Gondor and Rohan, but underneath they had opted for simple tunics and breeches. They halted at the gate and waved.

"Ho there, Jo!" Pippin shouted, swinging himself out of his saddle.

"We're here at last," Merry added needlessly, and he and the Took tied their mounts to the garden fence.

I pulled myself up and watched them approach, dusting off my dress. I tucked the book I had been reading, one of Bilbo's old texts, under my elbow, having safely marked my place with a leaf.

"Good afternoon," I smirked. I allowed Merry to press a kiss to my cheek.

"It's good to see you again, Jo," Pippin quipped. "You're looking well."

"I'm glad to see you both, too, but I thought you were going to come a week ago."

Pippin gave a quick, nonchalant shrug, his thin lips curling. "The weather didn't agree with us, so we chose to spend the day safe and warm in a nearby tavern. Blake Sunnybrush had his flute out, and we couldn't seem to run out of songs to sing or tales to tell."

"The local folk never tire of our stories," explained Merry, a lopsided grin brightening his features.

"Ah," I snorted, crossing my arms in false annoyance, "I figured as much. You two were off having a party while I was stuck here, even though you knew I would have liked to have you to distract me — especially on a rainy day."

"Then Frodo is still holed up in his office with his writing?" Pippin guessed wryly.

I nodded, and my friends sighed knowingly. Without another word, we turned to the round door of the _smial_ and ducked inside, and Merry and Pippin tossed their cloaks onto the hooks beside the arching entryway. The hall was empty and quiet.

"Well, you had better go tell dear Frodo that he has guests," Merry said, peering down the corridor toward the Baggins's study. "See if you can't coax him out for a bit."

"I will — you two go and see Rosie and the baby, in the parlor."

"And where is Sam?" Pippin asked.

"He's outside, around back. Don't worry, I'll fetch him, too."

I went first for Samwise, who had been working all morning behind Bag End in the grass and dirt of the rear garden. I found him with twigs in his dusty-blonde hair and smudges on his round cheeks.

"Merry and Pippin are here, Sam," I announced, stooping around a shrub to see him.

He said merrily, "Oh, good… I was about to head in, anyhow. Just let me get cleaned up, and I'll get some tea ready." Shaking dust from his vest, he stood. He had grime under his fingernails and on his strong hands, but I undauntedly wound my fingers through his and walked with him back into the hobbit-hole.

"Did you get much work done?" I asked.

"I'd say I got a fair amount of the weeds cleared away," he said. "But they're trying to take over, and it'll be a while before I root them all out."

"They're no match for you, Sam," I said. "You'll be finished in no time."

Chuckling, he split off from me on his way to the kitchen. I headed to Frodo's study, steeling myself for whatever way the hobbit would act today. I didn't know what good it was to tell him our friends were here; if he joined us for tea, he would probably act distracted and preoccupied the whole time.

However, when I peeked into the doorway of the small room, I saw something even stranger than usual. Sure enough, Frodo was still at his tall, slanted writing desk with his back to me, dusty light tilting down onto him through a round window, a fire crackling in the circular grate just to his right — but, oddly, he was sitting motionless, doing nothing, just staring down at a red, leather-bound book set before him. Normally he would have been scribbling incessantly on leaves of parchment, copying down notes and filling in chapter after chapter of his story. Today, though, his papers were stacked neatly around him and his quill was set to one side.

"Frodo?" I ventured softly.

He still did not move, but I heard his voice come faintly in response, several moments later. He sounded relieved and drained. "I'm… done with it, Jo," he said. "I have written all I can."

Surprised, I went to his side and looked down at the book that had captured his attention for so many months, now. Its cover was unadorned except for a small, gold star stamped at the very top, but I knew what its pages contained.

"You've finished your book at last?" I cried.

He faced me, lifting his head and giving me a small, sad smile. His skin was slightly pale, but he looked sweeter than I had ever seen him, his eyes a sparkling blue and his ears protruding adorably from his dark tangles. My heart did a little flip-flop, and I resisted the abrupt urge to trace the line of his strong jaw with a finger or throw myself into his embrace. Instead, I bent my concentration on the embroidered patterns on his suspenders.

"Merry and Pippin have come to visit, and Sam's getting some tea prepared," I informed him. "They really would like to see you."

He offered me no answer, nor did he stir, and I coughed uncomfortably, shifting. "Will you join us?" I persisted.

"Jo, I'm sorry I've been neglecting you," he whispered unexpectedly. Taken aback, I brought my gaze back to his face, but he wasn't looking at me anymore — his stare was vague and lowered to some spot beyond me. "I'm sorry," he repeated, reaching to touch the front of his book, "but you must understand, I had to finish it."

I expelled a quick, resigned lungful of air and nodded, rubbing my forehead. "I know, Frodo. Bilbo's been working on it for years, and you've finally managed to get it done. I'm glad for both of you — he would be very proud."

"I don't even know if he ever meant to finish it," the Baggins said, the lightest trace of humor in his voice. "It gave us both something to do, at any rate."

"But it's really very important that you wrote it all down," I said sincerely. "This is the story that was loved and read by millions in my Time — you'll all be famous one day because of it."

He gave a dry laugh. "I'm afraid I haven't written it well enough for that."

For a moment I allowed myself to sink back into memories of reading _The Lord of the Rings _for the first time. That world, the world I had known before Middle-earth, was like a half-forgotten dream, a faded remembrance of people and things that had once existed. I remembered falling in love with characters that were no more than myth to me then — and now they were my closest companions.

Coming back to the present, I peered at Frodo and spoke up finally, "If you want to sit a while with us, we'll be in the drawing room."

"I'll come with you," Frodo relented. "I would like a good cup of tea."

We joined Merry, Pippin, Sam, and Rosie in the sitting room a few minutes later, and Frodo's appearance was met with a glad shout from Meriadoc and Pippin.

"Frodo!" Merry exclaimed, jumping up to thump his friend welcomingly on the back. "How are you, Master Baggins?"

"I am well, Merry," Frodo answered. He dropped into a chair next to Sam and surveyed the gathering, and I settled for a spot on the floor on a pile of pillows. Frodo gestured to Peregrin's plate of food. "I see you've already helped yourself to our pantries, Pippin."

The Took tossed his head defiantly, taking a large bite of bread. "Rosie plays a very gracious host," he said. "And anyway, I was taking your portion of the meal, as you were not expected to join us."

"I don't recall giving you permission to do anything of the sort," Rosie said from aside Sam.

Elanor, cradled against Samwise's chest, woke up suddenly and gave a plaintive cry for her mother. Somewhat flustered, Sam said, "You'd better take her, Rosie."

"Yes, it's time for her supper," Rosie said, hurrying to retrieve the baby. She left the room to calm her, singing soothingly to the littlest Gamgee on her way.

Once she had gone, Pippin said jokingly, "What did you do to the poor child, Sam?"

"She's just hungry — it was nothing of my doing!" Sam said, affronted.

"Or perhaps _you _frightened her, Pip," Merry interjected. "That face you're making around your mouthful of bread is horrible."

"Nonsense," the Took said with a dismissing wave. "Everyone knows I have perfect manners. Also, I am wonderful with children."

"Only because you know that you're still a child yourself," Merry said.

We all laughed and sipped our tea. Rosie could be heard rustling in the adjacent kitchen, and opposite me, Sam sighed, leaning over his steaming drink with hunched shoulders.

"It's been ages, Frodo," Merry piped up after a while. "Pippin and I have missed seeing you."

"Sam and Jo have told me that you two are cutting quite a dash in the Shire with your fair songs and speech," Frodo said doubtfully, pouring himself a cup of tea. "You've been busy, so you can't have missed me too much."

"To be honest, everybody in Hobbiton has missed you, Mr. Frodo," Samwise added earnestly. "Everyone at _The Green Dragon_ asks after you."

The Baggins sipped his drink and disproved calmly, shaking his head, "No one has asked after me, dear Sam. There's no need to lie to me."

An uncomfortable hush dropped upon us, thickening the air with apprehension. Merry grimaced down to me, and I shrugged hopelessly. Pippin was so agitated that he put down his food loudly.

"Why do you have to be so unpleasant?" the Took demanded, his voice lilting. "We came to cheer you up!"

Astonished, Frodo looked at him and laughed — truly _laughed_, allowing mirth to enter his countenance and a spark to light his eyes. It had been a while since I'd seen that. "I'm sorry, my friends," he said, "I don't mean to be dismal. But do you know how long it has been since I've done anything pleasant? When was the last time we did some traveling together?"

"Ages, I'm sure," Merry reiterated.

"Well, let us fix that," Frodo suggested. "In a few weeks, it will be my birthday — I want us all to go off together to celebrate. I think I need to get away."

My friends were stunned by this unanticipated proposal, yet they gave a chorus of hearty agreement. "Anything to get you out of the _smial_, Frodo," I heard Pippin say, and Sam added, "Where will we go, Mr. Frodo?"

But I could only sit, stricken, goose bumps rising chillingly across my arms.

_I think I need to get away_, he had said, so flippantly no one had noticed the weight of his words except me. A freezing, dead weight dropped into my stomach, and a fear that numbed every part of me gripped my heart in an icy fist. Merry, Sam, and Pippin had no idea what Frodo truly meant, and the three of them quickly began planning their trip, listing the supplies they would need and the chores that had to be done beforehand. I could say nothing.

I don't know why I was shocked to hear that Frodo still planned to leave Middle-earth with the Elves, in spite of everything. Perhaps I had once thought that he would stay with me in the Shire, after all that had happened between us. Things were not as Tolkien had written them, so long ago — Frodo was surely happier than he had been in the books — he had me, I was there for him. But he was leaving me anyway.

_Frodo is leaving me_.

The thought spiked into me painfully, and I shuddered, a sudden sob threatening to overwhelm me. Clamping a hand over my mouth, I sniffed falteringly. I felt trapped, suffocating, desperate — this was not how it was supposed to happen! My mind gave me flashes of the future, of what it would be like to live without Frodo at my side. What would I do? How would I survive?

At my shoulder, Samwise noticed my odd behavior and bent to ask worriedly, "Are you all right, Miss Jo?"

Struggling to get a grip on myself, I forced a nod and a smile in his direction. "Yes, Sam, thank you."

The Gamgee frowned and reached for my quivering hands. "You're shaking, Miss Jo," he muttered. "Is the room too cold for you?"

I turned to him and saw that his brown eyes had filled with concern. He wrapped one arm about my shoulders, trying to warm me. And I thought, fleetingly, _At least I'll have Sam_.

"No, I'm fine," I lied, taking a deep, calming breath. "Maybe you should go check on Rosie, Sam."

"Maybe I should," he said warily. "Can I get you anything?"

I shook my head. He rose, and from the floor I watched the hobbit move across the room. He walked past Frodo, and as he did, the Baggins caught my gaze and held it, embers flashing in his blue irises — and then he looked away.

* * *

Frodo was leaving me.

If I had been anxious before the Fellowship's leave-taking from Rivendell, then I was doubly so in those terrible, excruciating weeks leading up to that dreaded day in September. Merry and Pippin came around more often, and there was life in Bag End again, but the whole thing was like torture to me.

When I was around Frodo, I was constantly reminded that he was going to be stolen from me, and it was almost too unbearable to spend time with him. But whenever I left him, I sensed the minutes slipping by, minutes that I would never regain, and I rushed back. I even found it difficult to sleep whenever Frodo was lying beside me. I would sometimes just watch him dream, the moonlight casting a thin silver veil over him, shadows pooling in deep places around his eyes.

It was like moving through a dark dream. There was a tight, burning sensation in my chest that would not go away, and every passing moment gnawed at me, almost tauntingly. I was empty, stricken with grief, mourning the time I had lost with my Baggins already. Anger and anguish, swirling sickeningly inside me, fought for control of my emotions.

There was no one to comfort me. I had no wish to discuss Frodo's plans with Merry, Pippin, or Sam, so I tried to disguise my feelings as a simple illness. I told them I was having trouble sleeping, which was the truth; the fact that I felt poorly was no lie. They were quick to comfort me and offer me anything I needed to get better, especially Sam, who always had a cup of tea waiting for me. They were overly kind to me, and the thought of being with them was the only apparent flicker of joy that my future held.

I was trying my best to make these last days happy and pleasant. I said nothing of it to Frodo. I participated in every conversation, even laughed when it was appropriate. I helped Sam pack up his saddlebags, cleaned Bag End with Rosie, and played with Elanor. Merry and Pippin tried to persuade me to ride with them to Crickhollow, but they weren't successful. They only got me as far as the wide lawn in front of Bag End, where they would smoke their pipes and I would sit contemplating many things.

Two weeks before September 21, the date Frodo had set for our departure, I wandered through our hobbit-hole in an effort to distract myself. I was left to myself, for it was late and everyone had excused themselves to bed, except for Frodo. He was nowhere to be found, though I guessed he was probably taking one of his midnight strolls around the Hill.

My own meanderings led me past empty rooms and corridors, places that held my earliest memories, like the library, and Bilbo's old, forsaken chambers. I could not linger long in any of those rooms — but I did stop outside Frodo's little writing niche, the study that had been his prison during his writing. This tiny space bore his mark more than anywhere else in the _smial_.

The office was dark, and dust floated in the shaft of dim moonbeams coming through the window, pooling on the rug and desktop. It was all as I had last seen it, tidy and organized, with the Bagginses' heavy leather-bound book placed atop a stack of papers. Frodo had not yet abandoned this place, but it felt already like a tomb.

The embossed star shone on the Red Book's cover. I hesitated only a moment, and then sat down at the desk and opened the manuscript to its first page.

I recognized Bilbo's sharp, scraggly writing. He had scratched out several titles on the paper, among them _There and Back Again_, and _My Unexpected Journey_, and _The Tale of the Great Ring_. Underneath all this, in a more flowing script, Frodo had added one more.

_The Downfall of the Lord of the Rings_

_and the Return of the King_

I swallowed hard and began thumbing through the pages, watching the chapters flutter by, catching words and names that made me ache for things that were gone. I saw the handwriting change from Bilbo's to Frodo's, right in the middle, when our time at Rivendell was being described. Every part of the story I'd loved had been included — all of it, except for the very end. The last leaves of parchment in the book were blank.

I leaned forward on my elbows over the empty pages, holding my head in my hands. How easy it would be to simply write, "The end," and be done with it. But Frodo and I could never have the ending I wanted, and I had to accept it.

"I have to accept it," I grumbled angrily to myself, squeezing my skull between my palms. "Get _over_ it, you blasted idiot."

But before I could stop myself, a hot, heavy tear fell onto the page beneath me, and I had to hurry to swipe it away before it smeared the ink. As I scrubbed at the paper, I heard rustling at my back, and a second later, a soft, tuneful voice reached my ears.

"Jo… you know where we are going? You know about the Havens?"

I sagged against the desk and closed my eyes. I didn't need to see the hobbit standing in the doorway.

"Yes, Frodo," I answered mutedly.

I sensed him step nearer. "Then you also know _why_ I must go."

He was imploring me to understand, but I could not respond. Knowing his reasons for leaving did not make me feel any better.

He continued, quickly, "Jo, listen to me… I am wounded, and I cannot be healed in the Shire. I can't stay here and live contentedly. You must have known this all along. Right from the moment you arrived in Middle-earth, you knew what my end would be."

I cringed. There it was — the weight of my knowledge fell upon me with sudden, crushing force, and a wrenching agony ripped at my spirit. It wasn't fair — I had already let so many I loved go. I had seen Boromir, and Halbarad, and Théoden all ride to their deaths. I had let a hundred crucial chances slip away — how could I be expected to merely stand back and watch my dear Frodo leave me, as well?

My throat tightened, and I felt a stinging heat rise behind my eyelids. I didn't want to argue with him and I knew I couldn't, yet I still tried. "Things may have changed," I whispered feebly.

"How?" he challenged. "Everything happened the way you said it would. I still came back to you with a shadow over me. Today, I still dream of the dark places that I saw in Mordor, of being a captive of Orcs and the Ring. My Morgul-wound is deep. You cannot take these troubles away from me."

There was nothing I could say.

He was right, of course. From the beginning, I had been clinging to something I knew I could not keep. I just hadn't believed that the time to let him go would come so soon.

Suddenly, I was cold and numb — all I wanted was to get away and never discuss this with him again. Very quickly, my grief melted into emptiness, and I realized that I was only tired. Tired, and unbearably drained. I slowly let my hands fall from my eyes so I could stare blurrily down at the Bagginses' Red Book.

"This is the very last thing, isn't it?" Frodo asked solemnly. "This is the end of the Story you knew."

I bit the inside of my lower lip and forced out, "Yes, Frodo."

"Then, at the moment, you are the only one who knows what is written at the conclusion. I have left the finishing of it to Sam," he said thinly.

I sat there, inexpressive, vacuous, darkness and dust between the two of us. A bird flew across the moon outside, and its shadow played across my chest. At last, I spoke.

"Frodo," I said unsteadily, "I know it's terrible of me to hope for… for you to stay. I can't help being selfish."

He came and knelt beside me, pressing his forehead into my neck and hugging me close. I saw only his four-fingered hand as it came around me. "Oh, Jo, I am sorry," the hobbit said quietly. "I wish we could go back to the way things were. I never meant to harm you, but — I am selfish, too. I wanted you to be with me, even though I knew in my heart that I could not return to the life we had before. I have been hurt too deeply for that."

"But — to never see you again — " My words broke, and I choked against a sob.

"I will remember you always with the light of Gandalf's fireworks in your eyes," he interrupted, more loudly, now, "and with a smile on your face as you laugh at one of Pippin's ridiculous jokes, Sam and Merry beside you with their pipes and ale. And Bilbo is singing one of his songs — " He took a shaky breath and then recited halfheartedly,

"_When the cold of winter comes_

_Starless night will cover day._

_In the veiling of the sun_

_We will walk in bitter rain._

_But in dreams…_

_I can hear your name._

_And in dreams_

_We will meet again_…"

It was too much. Heartbroken, I turned to him and buried my face in the fabric of his woolen coat, holding on to him despairingly as I wept. Frodo's heartbeat resonated through me, and it was the last thing I remembered hearing, until I was too exhausted to think or feel any more.

The 21st day of September dawned bright and golden, and the hobbits and I set out from Bag End with the sun warming our backs. We left the hobbit-hole clean and tidy for Rosie, who waved from the front steps with Elanor as we parted. I kissed them both goodbye and told Rosie that I wanted to help her make stew when we got back. That was as far ahead as I was allowing myself to think.

Our path led us down through rows of _smials _and across the water, into Hobbiton, and I saw the village was already bustling with life. Many hobbits were opening shops and wheeling out fruit and vegetables in barrows, greeting us jovially, hobbit-children coming to the path to chase after our ponies' hooves.

Leaving Hobbiton, we followed the way that, once upon a time, had led us down to Tuckborough and the rolling hills of Pippin's home country, through lush woods and breathtaking knolls that broadened in a swelling carpet into the White Downs in the West. I sat on Bronwe between Merry and Samwise, looking on the beautiful landscape with a sort of dull wonder. By the time we reached the Green Hills of Tookland, the day was waning, and evening was pulling an inky mantle over the blanket of grassy fields stretching out before us. In one grove of lofty oaks at the feet of the Hills, Frodo stopped our company, and we made camp.

Peregrin started a fire and Sam was soon fixing a meal of tomatoes and bacon. Since my friends were now hardened adventurers, we had not stopped for elevenses or an afternoon snack, and I was hungry. I placed myself at the fireside next to Merry, while Frodo reclined a little way off, his back against a tree.

For our journey, I had worn the Rohirric cloak Éowyn had given me at Edoras, and I pulled it around my shoulders against the deepening chill. All the rest of my friends wore the olive-gray capes they had received in Lothlórien, Elvish brooches pinning them at their throats, but underneath they had gone back to their usual Hobbitish attire.

"It's been a while since I've sleep on hard earth," Pippin remarked through the silence, the flames of our small bonfire reflected in his emerald eyes. Sam passed him a frying pan, and the Took smirked at me, "I hope you're up to it, Jo."

"I've done just as much camping as any of you," I pointed out. "I can hold my own."

"Oh ho, there's no doubt of that," Merry chortled. "That's all you've had since you've been with us, anyhow — a lot of camping, trekking, riding, and hiking."

"You forgot swimming," Pippin added, speaking of Meriadoc's almost-drowning incident at the Hobbiton dock, which seemed to have happened in a different lifetime. The Took dished out our supper and handed us full plates.

Merry quirked a grin around a bite of bacon. "I didn't forget," he said, "I just wasn't planning on mentioning it."

"If you'd had any sense in your head at the time, you wouldn't have to be embarrassed about it now," Samwise put in somberly, looking at us from under the shade of his tangled fringe. "We were yelling at you to come back. Anyone could have seen that the dock was failing."

"That is not true, Sam," Merry balked incredulously. "I mean, the part about being embarrassed about it now. If I had listened to you, our Lady here would never have had the chance to make such a good impression on me! If she had not made her valiant rescue, she and I may not have become friends."

"Oh, be quiet, Merry," I said, rolling my eyes. "That's absurd."

"No, no, imagine it — I would have simply taken my mule back to Buckland, and we would have one less story to tell."

"So, are you saying we should be _grateful_ you nearly killed yourself?" I said.

"Jo, don't encourage him… he's just making excuses for his foolishness," Pippin said confidingly.

"You're one to talk!" Merry shot back. "Didn't Gandalf once call _you_ the 'fool of a Took,' Peregrin?"

They continued to bicker back and forth, and I glanced amusedly across the fire to Sam, who merely shook his head.

"They're both two of a kind, I say," the Gamgee muttered to me before digging into his dinner.

The next morning, the hobbits and I toasted Frodo over breakfast and wished him a very happy birthday, and Merry and Pippin made a grand show of giving the Baggins a bundle of twigs. I saw Frodo's expression change from curious to mildly exasperated during the unveiling of this gift, and I found that I had enough feeling left in me to laugh with my friends.

"Well, you didn't give us enough time to send off for a proper present!" Pippin explained.

We continued our journey westward. By the late afternoon we had left Tookland and the White Downs, and the Blue Mountains were stretching across the horizon to our right, closer than I had ever seen them. The lands became wilder and more undulating — we rode through untamed hills and wide, empty meadows, skirting the large village of Michel Delving near the boundary of the Westfarthing. We went down into thick woods, pausing once for an early supper and then going on. Frodo, pressed by some urgent need, told us we would be riding through the night. Soon the stars dotted the atmosphere overhead, and Merry was humming a traveling tune to entertain us in the dimness of twilight. Sam and Pippin joined in with verses that they knew, but after a little while, Frodo interrupted them unexpectedly.

"Shh!" hissed the Baggins swiftly, stopping his pony at the crest of a hilltop and peering through the forest. "Do you hear that?"

"What is it, Mr. Frodo?" Samwise asked.

We all halted and listened hard, cocking our heads to catch the faintest noise. At first, my ears could discern little other than the rustling of leaves and far-off water, but then, indistinctly, there came the hum of gentle, mournful voices lifted in song.

"_A! Elbereth Gilthoniel!_

_silivren penna míriel_

_o menel aglar elenath,_

_Gilthoniel, A! Elbereth!"_

"It's the Elves," Sam breathed, in answer to his own question.

Below us on the road, a company emerged from the trees, the air around them alight with ethereal radiance. The Elves were clad in robes of silver and blue, some of them walking slowly with banners held aloft, others riding noble gray horses. This group was the last of an ancient people, and they seemed to me as distant and beautiful as dying stars, untouchable and tragic.

Among them was a small covered wagon driven by a tall, hooded figure in white, who raised his head just as the procession came under us. I caught the sparkle of a penetrating gaze and the flash of a fiery ring as he waved a wrinkled hand in greeting.

"Why, it's Gandalf!" Pippin cried.

We hastened down to meet them, the hobbits overjoyed to meet such a close friend on the road. The wizard pushed back his hood and bowed to us from his perch. He was smiling underneath his hoary mustache.

"Now we see why Frodo was so keen to get out of the Shire so quickly," Merry said.

"Yes, now you see," Gandalf agreed ominously.

"What are you doing so far west, Gandalf?" Pippin inquired.

He glanced pointedly back over one shoulder to indicate the passenger inside his wagon. "I'm accompanying a very old friend on his final journey," he said.

At that instant, an aged, frizzy-headed hobbit appeared beside the wizard, his elderly eyes sweeping his surroundings beneath hooded lids. His skin was gray and mottled and his curls had gone thin, but I recognized him immediately — this was my beloved Bilbo.

"Bilbo!" I cried gleefully.

"Hello, my dear friends," he wheezed, steadying himself against Gandalf. "I have passed the Old Took today as the oldest hobbit! So that's settled."

We smiled up at him, and I said, "Happy birthday, Bilbo."

"I suppose Gandalf has already told you I'm going on another trip," the Baggins went on. "Rivendell has been pleasant and Elrond is accommodating, but I think it's about time I had another decent adventure."

"Yes, Gandalf told us," Merry said.

"But where are you going, and who are you going with?" Pippin pressed.

Another voice cut into our exchange from nearby. "Have no fear, _Ernil i Pheriannath _— he will be tended well." A handsome Elf rode into view, a look of light amusement in his timeless features.

Lord Elrond Half-elven was as I remembered him. His rich robes were of pale lavender, and he had a circlet of gold on his stern brow. He welcomed me with a nod and a murmured, "Mistadiel."

I had missed being called by my Elvish name, and I grinned in return to this gesture. I was about to ask him what had happened in Rivendell since we had left, and how his sons Elladan and Elrohir were faring, but the words flew from me when another Elf came to his side from around Bilbo's wagon. I was instantly stricken dumb by her ineffable beauty.

The unknown Elf-maiden regarded me serenely atop her mount. She was fair-haired, with skin as pure and flawless as porcelain, her graceful hands folded daintily on her reins. Her face was like a frosty jewel; her eyes were icy blue and piercing, and her gown was snowy white. Upon her finger was a shining ring set with a clear stone.

She looked at me, something flickering inside her gaze, and for a moment I felt completely exposed. All my fears and hopes flooded the front of my mind.

_If Frodo goes, I will be lost_.

A thought came into my head, unbidden: _All who have taken this journey know what must be left behind, Mistadiel. We know of pain and loss._

The Elf-maiden regarded me thoughtfully for what felt like an eternity, then diverted her attention to Gandalf and allowed her mouth to tip.

"I did not think it was in the nature of the _periannath_ to complain," she said. Her tone was even, deliberate, and heavy.

"I fear you have not known many of their kind, Lady Galadriel," Gandalf said wryly. "They tend to be the most bothersome creatures in existence."

All of Gandalf's other words were drowned out by her name. _Galadriel, the Lady of the Golden Wood_. My breath snagged in my throat, and I gaped, overcome in her presence. She was the fairest and most revered of all Elves — she was one of the oldest beings that still dwelled in Middle-earth. I was in awe, for she emanated power and magnificence.

I realized that I was staring, and had to duck my head and concentrate on the conversation my hobbits were having.

"Is that what you've thought of us all along, Gandalf?" Samwise was saying.

"I've found that the Halflings are almost always more trouble than they're worth," the wizard lied, winking at me secretively.

"Well," sniffed Bilbo, "since I am such a nuisance, I think I'll take some more rest." The hobbit fell back into his carriage with a wobbly flourish.

"You have insulted him, Mithrandír," Galadriel teased. "We will not see him until we arrive, I fear."

Without delay, Frodo dismounted and pulled himself up beside Gandalf. "I think I'll ride with Bilbo for a while," he explained to us, climbing inside. "Tie my pony to the wagon, will you, Sam?"

We were off again in minutes, moving through the gloomy evening, a band of ghostly, shimmering wanderers. Night came on and the moon rose above the trees, and all fell quiet. Although the hour grew late, we did not stop. Frodo remained with Bilbo, so I rode near Sam, Pippin, and Merry, and I was able to take some solace from the sight of their youthful, glowing faces. I observed their profiles silhouetted against the leaves, and I noted Merry's pug nose, Sam's clenched jaw, the curls spilling over Pippin's forehead.

The night slipped away all too quickly. It seemed to me that no time had elapsed at all since meeting the Elves, but before I knew it, I saw a gray light coloring the sky, and a lone Elf at the rear of the group began to sing. It was a deep, woeful tune that drew coldness into my veins and poured poison into my stomach.

_This is the end_, I thought, filled with a sudden, gripping dread.

There came a sigh of waves upon land, and a gentle glistening of the first daylight on water, and we came out of the woods onto a high summit above _Mithlond_, the Grey Havens. It looked very much like Rivendell — there were towers rising high above the hilltops and low, ancient houses of stone built to the edge of the shore, narrow trails running down steps and through archways and under curving tree branches. There was a single ship anchored at the harbor.

I reeled, clutching at Bronwe's mane and jerking her to a stop under the yellow leaves of an overhanging bough. This could not be happening. The world became sharp, overly defined, harshly detailed so that every blade of grass on the road beside me stood out severely and the clouds on the horizon were outlined with glaring brilliance. The rest of our company was going down before me, leaving me alone, and I could not follow. I was dizzy. Shadows crept around the edges of my vision, oozing from the foliage like tar.

But from below me, Pippin began shouting about how big the boat was — "Jo, come down here and see this! My entire family could fit on the deck!" — and at once, Gandalf bellowed for the Took to be quiet. At the quayside, I saw Frodo and Sam help Bilbo down from his wagon, their slow, careful movements closely scrutinized by Galadriel and Elrond. Reluctant, I spurred Bronwe on and rushed the rest of the way to join my friends.

The road widened into a broad, flat area paved with polished stones and lined with neatly tended turf and small hedges. The Elves were boarding the White Ship on a long, splendid dock curving out into the water. Crossing a narrow gangway, they vanished to the lower levels of the vessel, never to be seen by any in Middle-earth again. Lord Elrond and Galadriel were the last in the procession, and they lingered after the rest had gone. The Lady was not as I had last seen her, a diamond in the darkness, but now she appeared golden and dazzling, like the morning, her wavy locks falling freely around her smooth face like sunlight.

Just as Bilbo finally reached the ground and balanced himself on his own rickety feet, I slid out of my saddle behind the hobbits. I hung back, away from them. Beyond their small outlines, the waves whispered threateningly, a glittering backdrop for a gloomy scene.

Supporting Bilbo by the elbow, Frodo gave his uncle a small cane, and as he did, he twisted around enough to glance at me, very briefly. The Baggins was blank and unreadable, his eyes stony and his lips pallid. He lost focus, let his gaze drop, and the moment ended.

_We know of pain and loss._

I huddled close to Bronwe's warm flank.

"Thank you, Frodo my lad," Bilbo heaved, taking the cane weakly and straightening his opulent waistcoat, adjusting the shawl wrapped around him. "Though… I do hope I won't need a walking stick for much longer. The air is very good for you in the Undying Lands, I've been told."

Realization dawned to Pippin, and his mouth opened in wonder. The hobbit gestured to the ship. "Oh, so you're going with them, Bilbo? Across the Sea?"

"Yes," Bilbo said firmly, taking a cautious step, "I believe I have earned a little rest."

Gandalf, waiting apart from them, gripped his own slender white staff. He had bound the upper sections of his long hair into a tail, but flyaway strands still teased across his furrowed skin. "Of course you have, dear Bilbo," the wizard said, the broadness of his grin showing through his trim beard. "You have earned it, indeed."

Walking forward more boldly, now, Bilbo threw a haphazard wave back to us. "Farewell, my friends!" he called. "I wish for you the happiest of times. Keep the Shire well!"

It was a curt goodbye. I almost went to Bilbo, wanting to stop him, tell him how much I loved him and appreciated all his past kindness. But Gandalf met Bilbo to help him toward the dock, taking tiny, helpful steps next to the hobbit, and when the wizard was certain his friend could make it, he pivoted back to us.

I stared at the Baggins's hunched back as he hobbled across the flagstones. Where the world had been so agonizingly distinct only minutes before, it was beginning to smudge, the ocean and sky smearing into one mass in front of us, the grass and trees coming together in a green fog to my left. My heart started to pound.

"Well, my friends, my work in this world is done," Gandalf said, his voice kind and satisfied. "A new age of peace has begun."

He nodded to each of my hobbits in turn, but did not spare any attention for me, and I soon felt cold teardrops splatter on my arm. I wanted to run to the wizard and cling to his rippling robes, but I was rooted to my spot and injured by such disregard.

"Farewell, brave hobbits," Gandalf bade gently. "Here at last, on the shores of the Sea, we must part. I will not say, 'Do not weep,' for not all tears are evil."

Merry asked dispiritedly, "Will — will you ever come back?"

"You will not meet us again in this lifetime, Meriadoc," Gandalf said, pursing his lips.

The hobbits refrained from saying any more as this cheerless thought sunk in. Pippin bent quickly and sniffled into his scarf. Sam stared up at Gandalf, love and reverence in his small smile, the glisten of teardrops on his round cheek.

But Bilbo Baggins had one more thing to say. Halfway to the boat, the hobbit stopped, veered about, and beckoned back to us with his walking stick.

"Frodo," he said, and everything around me slowed into a muddy blur, "are you coming?"

There was a single, terrible moment of silence. Merry, Pippin, and Sam all looked simultaneously to Frodo, who had gone entirely still. Dumbfounded, Pippin's features froze with a confused expression still slackening his jaw, and Sam seemed stunned, his head swiveling back and forth between the two Bagginses, but Meriadoc actually gave a shrill, unnerving guffaw.

"What?" the Brandybuck said blankly. "Frodo can't leave."

No one spoke. Wind blustered across the waterfront, fluttering the hobbits' cloaks around their ankles and drawing several pearly hairs across Gandalf's forehead. Galadriel and Elrond were like statues next to the ship.

Pippin and Sam were starting at Frodo. Growing desperate, Merry hurriedly took the Baggins's arm and implored, "You tried to give us the slip once before and failed, Frodo. What will we do without you? What about the Shire? What about _Jo_?"

With that frantic remark, all attention shifted to me. My tearstained face and blatant discontent came under many discerning eyes, and I was pinned like an insect to the leather of Bronwe's saddle at my back. I attempted to stand a little taller, waiting for what would come. They would tell me that I must let go for Frodo's sake… they would say it was foolish to act this way…

"What about Jo?" Gandalf echoed in his gravelly tone, bemused. I saw him glance to me past the weathered knuckle that held his staff. "There's no need to worry about the Lady. She is coming with us."

_What?_

I frowned. I saw Frodo straighten slightly and cock his head in confusion.

_She is coming with us_?

At first, the words did not register, and I gaped at him blankly. There were so many thoughts suddenly darting about frenziedly in my head that I could not hold a single one down. Had Gandalf said something about — what exactly had he meant by — was there any possible way —? I struggled to concentrate. He had said it flippantly, as though it were something I should have known all along.

"Hear us, Lady of the Shire," said Galadriel, jarring me out of my uncertainty and addressing me openly for the first time. "You are not bound to misery and loss, for you are not bound to the circles of this world."

"Yes, Mistadiel," Elrond interposed from his place on the dock. The Elf glided closer, folding his hands at his waist. "Although you have been counted among many peoples of this world during your journey, the fact that you are not of our Time has never diminished. You are still one the Valar chose to bring to Middle-earth, and the beginning and ending of your tale lies with them alone.

"In Imladris, the Council named you my ward, and there I offered to send you to Valinor as a friend of the Elves. It is a rare gift, but yours is a rare case." He arched his eyebrows and let a heavy beat pass. "Now that choice is before you once again, Jorryn. If it is your wish, I will see you safely to the Undying Lands."

"Mistadiel," Galadriel added softly, her thin lips curling in a slight smile, "go with Frodo."

Wonderful, blessed comprehension exploded inside me. I was numb, shaking — I couldn't breathe — hot light burst within my vision. Could this be true? I wasn't getting left behind — _they were letting me stay with Frodo_. Never mind those horrifying visions of dying on my own, of being forgotten and forlorn, of being torn apart, never whole, miserable forever. I had just been granted passage into Valinor. _I had just been granted passage into Valinor_.

From somewhere very remote, I heard a flat, dreamy murmur answer Lord Elrond. "I think," rang a voice that could not have been mine, "I think I will go with Frodo, Lord Elrond."

Before I knew what was happening, I was caught up in strong arms and swung around, the tickle of dark hair and scent of rich earth in my nose, and I realized Frodo was crying into my neck and saying in broken Elvish, "_Ú-erich — o nín gwanno_! _Tellin men achae_ — "

I hung on to him, suddenly realizing that this would not be the last time I would feel him hold me. Nearby, Gandalf was chuckling merrily, and sunbeams were shooting down around us, creating dazzling halos around the Elves. Frodo put me down, hugging me tightly and kissing me —

And over his shoulder I spotted Merry, Sam, and Pippin. My elation was abruptly shattered.

The three hobbits appeared disoriented and out of place. Pippin and Merry's eyes were red, puffy, and lowered uncomfortably to an area around my feet; Sam, though, was gawking at us, everything about him suggesting disbelief and anguish. At a loss, the Gamgee shook his head dazedly, fighting against his distress.

"Mr. Frodo," he said, tremulous, "I thought — I thought you would stay and enjoy being home, after all you've done."

Releasing me, Frodo went to Samwise and peered at him steadily. "I know," he whispered. "I was happy, for a little while. I understand now, though, that I can't pick up the old life we had. I can never go back."

"Mr. Frodo — you can't — "

"We set out to save the Shire, Sam, and it has been saved. But not for me."

Sam's face crumpled. "You can't leave!" he begged hoarsely, tears welling up to spill over his eyelids.

"Sam," Frodo said, "all that I have, I leave to you. Stay in Bag End. You will not always be torn in two. Someday, you will be whole again. But there is so much left for you to enjoy here."

Sam pressed his lips together forcefully and looked away, and Frodo shifted around to embrace Merry and Pippin. I faced the Gamgee by myself, but his curtain of sandy curls hid him from me.

"Sam," I said, swallowing painfully.

The hobbit fidgeted and coughed nervously, scuffing his feet. "I never thought we'd be parted again, Miss Jo," he said. He lifted his head, and I saw his skin was flushed. "I won't forget you, nor all you've done for us. I don't know how we could have done anything without the hope you offered."

"You would have managed all right, I think," I said. I bent and hugged him; he did not let me go for a many moments. "Dear Samwise… you will go on to become the most famous gardener in history. The Shire will flourish because of your work."

"Thank you, Miss Jo," he gulped.

"You are the bravest and kindest of hobbits, Sam," I said.

"And you — well, you know I think of you most highly — I have ever since the day I met you." Despite himself, he was beginning to redden.

I laughed sadly through my sniveling. "You will always have a place in my heart," I said, and I kissed him.

The hobbit caught at my fingers. "Take care of yourself, Miss Jo."

I turned to Merry, next. The hobbit opened his mouth to speak, but thought twice and simply gathered me to his chest, his fingertips digging into my back with the force of his hold. He cleared his throat next to my ear.

"We've said goodbye too many times, Jo," he said to me. "But before… in Rivendell, and Rohan… I was able to say that we would see each other again once all was ended. That… doesn't seem to hold true, now."

"No, I don't think so, Merry," I agreed forlornly.

"This is it, then? Our long road has led us to this end? If I had known it sooner, maybe I would have — "

"Merry, you mustn't think of it that way," I said, a lump rising inside me to block my words.

"It's hard for me to think anything else," he said. He coughed again. "But perhaps… you could swim back for a visit sometime?"

I pulled away and smirked up at him mournfully. "Merry Brandybuck, you're — "

"_Impossible_, I know," he finished for me. He brushed his mouth across my temple in a brief kiss, and shuffled backward.

When Pippin's turn came, the Took offered me a fragile, timid smile. He swiped hurriedly at his nose, which, like his pointed eartips, had been turned pink in the salty sea air. His eyes were narrowed in an attempt to prevent himself from crying.

"I don't know if I can take much more of this," he admitted, and his sweet, singsong accent slurred his speech even more than normal as he wept. "What will we do without you?"

"Oh, Pip," I muttered, burying my face in the folds of his cloak. "You'll go home, and become Thain of the Shire, of course. And you will have many more adventures, and live happily for many, many years."

"I don't see — " he began, but stopped. He pressed his wet cheek to mine and sighed haggardly. "I know it must be true, but that is the hardest thing I've had to believe out of everything you've ever told us."

"There's more," I said. I choked on something between a laugh and a whimper. "I won't spoil it for you, though. Just remember, you and Merry still have to catch wives for yourselves."

"Ah, the most cruel jest of all," Pippin said with forced playfulness. "You wound me, Jorryn. You know that there are none left to marry now that the Lady of the Shire has been snatched up by Master Baggins."

"Now you're being cruel," I retorted.

His arms tightened around me once more, and as he let me go, he tugged at one of my braids.

I looked at my three friends, one after the other, loving them all so much that I was physically pained. I had been with them so long, these heroes of Middle-earth, and my heart was ripped apart by the thought of leaving them. But outwardly, we just smiled at each other weakly.

"Goodbye," I said at last.

Frodo said farewell to Sam one last time, taking the Gamgee's head tenderly in his hands to plant a gentle kiss amid his curls, and I could hear Sam's broken sob as I walked away from my hobbits to meet Gandalf, who was waiting for us. Elrond and Galadriel had departed.

Holding his staff upright against his broad chest, the wizard winked at me and extended a welcoming arm. "I am glad to have you with us, Jorryn of the Shire," he rumbled.

I felt the pressure of his palm between my shoulder blades, and he gave me a subtle, guiding push toward the gangplank. My booted feet clunked hollowly on the wood.

_Dwarven boots, and stolen vegetables, and the hills of the Shire, games and songs and so many adventures_… Crossing the rampway, I faltered. All at once I found myself letting go of everything that had grown so familiar to me. It was like standing on the highest mountaintop of my mind and staring down at all these memories from far away.

I blinked. Someone had wrapped his fingers comfortably around mine. I realized that Frodo was with me now, joining me on the deck of the White Ship. The hobbit studied the flapping sails above us, and the graceful curve of the boat's bow — and then he looked back to the shore. I followed his gaze.

There were my three hobbits, Merry's arm around Pippin, Samwise's countenance strained. They were all grinning tearfully but bravely, motionless, watching us without a sound. I knew they would remain there long after we had vanished from their view.

"It's time," Gandalf announced, coming up after us. Two sturdy Elves appeared to draw up the ropes securing our vessel to the dock, and the sails were loosed. A breeze blew, and gradually, we started to drift away.

Wordlessly, Frodo pulled me to the railing of the ship. Around us the water shimmered, and the morning light filled the long inlet of the Grey Havens with dazzling sunshine. I crossed my wrists atop the boat's carven rail and rested my chin there, letting a few of my last tears mix into the briny waves streaming underneath us. The harbor grew small behind us, until I could no longer perceive our three friends on the seaside landing. Instead, I squinted into the dim western horizon.

"What do you see for us, Jo?" Frodo asked me wistfully.

I shrugged and pushed my windblown bangs away from my forehead. "You left the last of your book unwritten, so it is your fault I can tell you nothing," I joked. "But… I know how Bilbo always wanted the Story to end."

"Yes," Frodo said, smirking fondly. "I believe he put it as, 'They lived happily ever after, until the end of their days.' Do you expect to find something like that?"

Before I could answer, Elvish cheering and applause rang out from somewhere below the deck, and Bilbo's voice came resoundingly through the planks beneath us. He was singing his old walking-song.

"_The Road goes ever on and on_

_Down from the door where it began._

_Now far ahead the Road has gone,_

_And I must follow, if I can…_"

I laughed a little, and shrugged again. "I don't know, Frodo," I said, leaning on his shoulder. "I guess only time will tell."

And Frodo smiled.

* * *

Well, there you have it, folks. :) After years of writing, I'm finally finished. It's been a long road, but I've enjoyed every minute of it. I have met some amazing LOTR fans and other wonderful authors along the way, and I need to thank many of them. First, I need to send a huge shout-out to **Architeuthis** and the **Protectors of the Plot Continuum**, because their favorable review gave me a leg up in the world of fan fiction just when the LOTR fandom exploded. Thanks for not killing my character, guys. :) Second, thanks so much to the friends and beta-readers I had early on. Much love to **ArwenAria18**, who is the most brilliant writer I know. She has been around since the beginning, and her support and encouragement helped me through the most difficult chapters. **K. Schultz **gave me a huge amount of help at the start, with comprehensive reviews and wonderful suggestions. **Aranel **also deserves a big hug, because she published TWT on her site for me.

Most importantly, **thank you so much to everyone who reads and reviews**. Some of you have been with me for years, and I really, really appreciate it. Thank you for giving Jorryn a chance… thank you for comparing me to Tolkien… thank you for your praise and constructive criticism… thank you, thank you, thank you. You all have been wonderful.

Reviews, LJ comments, and e-mails will always be welcome. Seriously. If any of you want to e-mail me for any reason whatsoever (fic-related or not), feel free.

Thanks again. I'll be around. :)


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